Second Chance Summer

by Irene Hannon

  Fletch finished off his lemonade and leaned close to Rachel. “I have a blanket in the SUV. Want to find a spot on the beach and give the reverend and his wife our seats?”

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  A blanket on the beach with Fletch versus dealing with a sorrier-by-the-minute-looking funnel cake and listening to the octogenarians around her discuss Hank’s upcoming knee replacement?

  No contest.

  “Sure.”

  Fletch slid off the bench, and Rachel scooted after him as he spoke. “Why don’t you two take our seats? We’re going down to the beach to watch the show.”

  “Are you certain you don’t mind?” Reverend Carlson directed his question to both of them. “We don’t want to evict you.”

  “Of course they don’t mind.” Susan promptly took Rachel’s seat and patted the bench beside her. “I’m sure the young people would rather be closer to the action.”

  Rachel narrowed her eyes as the minister sat and Fletch headed for the parking lot with an “I’ll be back in a minute” promise.

  Was this a setup?

  Louise and Aunt El and the minister’s wife appeared to be the picture of innocence as they chatted about an upcoming book sale at the church—yet Fletch conveniently had a blanket in his Explorer.

  At this point, though, who cared? She’d wanted fireworks; now she was going to get them. Despite the crowds on the beach, she had a feeling that given positive signals and the right opportunity, Fletch would find a way to set off some fireworks of his own before this night was over.

  And she intended to make certain he got both.

  * * *

  “How’s this?” Fletch gestured to a small unoccupied expanse of sand, giving the crowded beach a final annoyed scan. If a more secluded spot was available, he couldn’t spot it the deepening dusk. Based on the crowd, everyone on the island—plus thousands of others—had turned out for the holiday display. Any fireworks of a personal nature would have to come after the official display ended.

  “Fine. We’ll have a perfect view from here.” She grabbed an edge of the blanket as he shook it out, and together they spread it on the sand.

  He waited until she settled in before dropping down beside her.

  “So was this a setup?” She gestured to the blanket.

  Fletch hesitated.

  “I think that’s my answer.” She arched an eyebrow at him as she pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees.

  He leaned back on his palms and crossed his ankles. Might as well be honest. “If you’re asking me whether I knew exactly how the scene in the pavilion was going to play out, the answer is no. But Gram did suggest I throw a blanket in the Explorer in case the opportunity came up for me to invite you to watch the show on the beach.”

  “And she made sure it did.”

  “She and several others, I suspect.”

  “No kidding. I think they were all in on the plan.”

  “You could have turned down my offer.”

  She shrugged. “The minister and his wife needed a place to sit. Besides, coming to the beach with you gave me an excuse to walk away from a funnel cake I didn’t want.”

  “Gee, thanks for the ego boost.”

  She sent him a wry look. “Give me a break. That Navy SEAL mystique has to be a serious chick magnet. I don’t think your ego is suffering.”

  Her flirty repartee was new—and encouraging.

  “Yeah. I’ve had to beat the women off with a palm frond since I’ve been here. So is my ‘mystique’ one of the reasons you went along with my suggestion?” He leaned in close, until their eyes were only inches apart. If she could flirt, he could, too. “Or did the electricity come into play?”

  Her lips parted slightly, and several seconds passed while a pulse throbbed in the hollow of her throat.

  A sudden peal of children’s laughter a few yards in front of them broke the mood, and she shifted that direction...leaving his question unanswered.

  Remember, Fletcher. Slow and easy. Take it one step at a time.

  Check.

  He transferred his attention to the two youngsters, too. The boy appeared to be about six, the girl perhaps four. Despite the quickly fading light, they were still engrossed in building a sandcastle.

  “That little girl is about to lose a flip-flop.” Rachel stood and gestured to a bobbing, fluorescent pink object that had been snatched by the retreating surf. “I’ll be right back.”

  She wove through the groups of people scattered on blankets, bent to snag the flip-flop and returned it to the little girl.

  He watched as she chatted with the children, then stayed to help them invert a bucket of sand and shore up the defensive wall of their castle. She returned a few minutes later, brushing the damp sand off her hands. “Sorry about that. Where kids are concerned, I tend to jump in headfirst and get way too involved.”

  “I already figured that out. Have you heard anything more from Madeleine’s mother, by the way?”

  “As a matter of fact, she dropped me a thank-you card a few days ago. I didn’t do all that much, but I was glad to hear things are going well.”

  “So she’s seen the light?”

  “I think so.” Rachel ran her palm over the sand, smoothing out the bumps, and her voice grew wistful. “I guess maybe for some women it takes a dramatic wake-up call like that to appreciate the gift of motherhood. But one of the happiest times of my life was while I was pregnant. Carrying a child conceived in love, feeling that new life move within you, close to your heart, knowing he or she is part of both of you—it was the most profound, joy-filled experience of my life.”

  As her passionate, emotion-choked words hung in the air between them, Fletch’s stomach suddenly bottomed out.

  He’d known Rachel loved children, of course. Had assumed she’d want a family if she ever remarried.

  But until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much she’d cherished carrying a baby she’d created with the man she loved.

  And she deserved a second chance at that.

  Rachel took a slow, deep breath and validated his conclusion. “Some women find pregnancy burdensome, but for me it was a precious blessing. One Mark and I had hoped to receive several times—until that dream died along with him.”

  A test rocket went up, exploded with a loud bang...and fizzled.

  Just like his spirits.

  Gritting his teeth, he clenched the blanket in his fingers. How could he have been so blind? He was a SEAL, trained to interpret data and observe subtle signals. He had no one to blame but himself for failing to recognize this looming disaster—and to realize the secret he’d hoped would be a mere disappointment was, in fact, a deal-breaker.

  The whistle of a rocket pierced the air, and a few seconds later the sky exploded with color.

  Rachel tipped her head back, and as the glow illuminated her face, catching the delicate curve of her jaw and the elegant line of her neck, he swallowed. Hard.

  This night wasn’t turning out anything close to the way he’d hoped.

  The vibrant color faded, and as the sky went black again he felt her shift toward him in the darkness.

  “By the way...the answer to your earlier questions is yes.” Her voice was softer now—and endearingly shy. “Both the SEAL mystique and the electricity are appealing. But to be honest, the attraction is a whole lot deeper than that.”

  A shaft of pain pierced Fletch’s midsection, so intense it stole the breath from his lungs. Was this some kind of cruel cosmic joke? First, Rachel opens a door by agreeing to share his blanket. Then she slams it shut with a game-changing revelation. Now she opens it again and invites him in.

  But he couldn’t accept. Encouraging her to fall in love with a man who wasn’t able to give her the special joy she longed t
o experience again was selfish. As Lisa had reminded him, when you love someone, that person’s happiness matters above all else. And if he wasn’t already in love with the woman beside him, he was falling fast.

  Another rocket exploded, lighting the night sky with a brilliant flash of stunning color. The next instant the radiant burst vanished, leaving the sky even darker than before.

  Was that how his life would feel if he let Rachel walk away?

  Yet what choice did he have?

  She scooted a bit closer, until her elbows brushed his, issuing a clear invitation to drape his arm across her shoulder.

  Ten minutes ago, Fletch would have taken full advantage of it.

  But not now.

  There would be no fireworks this night other than the ones in the sky above them.

  The bitter taste of despair soured his mouth, and as desperation sent a wave of panic crashing over him, he did something he hadn’t done in a very long while.

  He prayed—for fortitude, guidance...and grace.

  Because he was going to need all three in abundance in the days ahead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Talk about a bust.

  Paintbrush in hand, Rachel huffed out a breath and backed away to examine the whimsical dolphin mural in a children’s bedroom at Francis House. Given how distracted she’d been since her dud date last night with Fletch at the fireworks display, it was a wonder she hadn’t added a third eye to the frolicking critter.

  What was with him, anyway?

  First, he drops all kinds of clues that he’s interested in romance. Then, when she gives him plenty of opportunities to get cozy, he retreats. Worse, he’d used fatigue to deflect her hints that she’d be receptive to a ride home. To cap it off, he hadn’t said a word about getting in touch or rescheduling their beach date.

  Even Aunt El and Louise had seemed taken aback by his behavior when they’d all parted for the night.

  Sheesh.

  She dipped her brush into the paint and attacked the wall again, creating a whitecap in the once-placid sea.

  What could account for his sudden change of heart?

  Yes, the man had been tired. She got that. From all indications, he’d put in some grueling days—and nights. But would a strapping former Navy SEAL ever be too tired for romance...especially a romance he’d been pursuing with dogged diligence?

  With a sharp twist of her wrist, Rachel created yet another churn in the water. She’d gone over and over that question into the wee hours of the morning, and the answer was always the same.

  No.

  Fletch wasn’t the kind of man who backed away from a mission. And if that mission was a woman, he might be judicious and tactical in his approach, but he’d keep advancing—no matter how exhausted he was.

  Instead, he appeared to be in full retreat.

  And men thought women were hard to figure out!

  At least she’d had her art class at the hotel to keep her busy this morning and the mural project she’d started over the weekend to occupy her afternoon.

  Too bad neither had been mentally demanding enough to keep thoughts of a certain security consultant at bay.

  Once more she stepped back to examine her work. Another hour and she ought to be able to wrap it up. If nothing else, things at Francis House had progressed well in the past few days. Aside from a few decorating details, it would be ready for the Mitchell family’s arrival and ribbon-cutting in nine...

  A glint at the front window—like sun reflecting off metal—caught her eye, and she wandered over to investigate.

  Was that Fletch’s SUV parked in front?

  She edged closer, approaching from the side, and peeked through the blinds.

  It was his, all right. The man himself was sitting in the driver’s seat.

  Rachel squinted, trying to figure out what he was doing, but the light was against her. All she could tell for sure was that his hands were clasped on the wheel.

  Had he come looking for her?

  But no one knew about her impromptu trip except Aunt El. Nor did anyone except her aunt know she was here alone, since Eleanor had made a last-minute decision to dispatch today’s Francis House crew to round up paper goods and basic cooking supplies for the kitchen.

  Of course, Aunt El could have called Louise from the Painted Pelican—and Louise could have told Fletch.

  But given his lack of interest last night, why would he seek her out?

  As she watched his motionless figure, a tiny shiver snaked up her spine. Fletch was a decisive man of action, yet his frozen posture suggested he was waging some sort of internal debate as he sat there in the afternoon heat.

  Her fingers tightened on the paintbrush as fear congealed in her throat. Was he summoning up the courage to break things off with her face-to-face?

  Based on his sudden withdrawal in the middle of what had started out to be a promising evening last night, that was a very real possibility.

  Foreboding wrapped itself around her like the tentacles of an octopus, and she retreated into the shadows.

  One thing for sure. Something was up—and it wasn’t good.

  * * *

  His knuckles were turning white.

  Prying his hands off the steering wheel, Fletch flexed his fingers until the blood began flowing again.

  Too bad it wasn’t that easy to alleviate the constriction around his heart.

  He glanced toward Francis House. If only he could drive away and pretend he’d never met Rachel. Or better yet, find a way to eliminate the problem that was dooming their relationship.

  But since neither was possible, he might as well get this over with. Besides, he owed her an explanation for his mixed signals last night. The image of her hurt, confused face when he’d begged off driving her home had strobed across his mind through the lonely, dark, endless hours of the night.

  It had been on Gram’s mind, too, this morning, based on her pithy comments during breakfast about consideration and manners and people whose heads weren’t on straight.

  He needed to make things right—or as right as he could under the circumstances.

  Expelling a slow breath, he opened the door, stepped into the sun and braced for what was sure to be one of the hardest conversations he’d ever had.

  As he approached the porch, he eyed the swing, now sporting a padded seat. The house was almost ready to welcome its first family for a relaxing visit to one of Georgia’s Golden Isles.

  He hoped their stay was less problem-plagued than his.

  Clenching his left hand into a fist, he stabbed the bell with his right index finger.

  The door opened at once, as if Rachel had been hovering on the other side. She had a small brush in her hand, and there was a speck of blue paint on her nose.

  She looked adorable—but wary.

  After last night’s debacle, that didn’t surprise him.

  “I thought you’d moved on to curtains.” He gestured to the brush.

  She looked down, as if she’d forgotten it was in her hand. “Oh. We...uh...finished hanging them on Sunday. I decided to do a mural in one of the bedrooms.” She gestured vaguely behind her with the brush.

  “May I see it?” That was as expedient a way as any to get into the house.

  She sent him a quizzical glance, then lifted one shoulder. “Sure.” Pulling the door wide, she moved aside to allow him to enter. “It’s the blue room.”

  A dozen steps took him to the threshold, and despite the knot in his stomach his lips curved up at the fanciful image of two dolphins cavorting in the waves with a beach ball. “Nice.”

  “It’s not the kind of painting I usually do while I’m here. I tend to dabble more in impressionistic seascapes. But I think the younger visitors to Francis House will enjoy i
t.”

  They were back on the subject of children again.

  The very opening he needed—ready or not.

  Just do it, Fletcher.

  Forcing himself to turn, he faced her across the room. “I want to apologize for last night.”

  Rachel’s cheeks pinkened, and she eased back toward the far wall, snatched up a rag and busied herself wiping specks of paint off her hands. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I didn’t do anything right, either.”

  She flashed him a look but remained silent.

  Raking the fingers of one hand through his hair, Fletch propped the other on his hip. “Just so you know, I had every intention of initiating some fireworks of our own last night. You didn’t misread my signals—and it took every ounce of my self-control to ignore yours.”

  For a couple of seconds she studied him, as if debating how to respond. Finally, she swallowed and wadded the rag in her fingers. “So why did you?”

  At least she hadn’t taken the face-saving route and denied her interest. That would have made things even more awkward—if that was possible.

  “It’s a long and unpleasant story. Would you like to sit outside on the porch swing for a few minutes while I tell it to you? That jasmine vine smells a whole lot better than this paint.” He tried to coax his lips into a smile, but they refused to cooperate.

  After a fractional hesitation, she tossed the rag onto the tarp covering the floor. “Okay.”

  While he followed her back to the front door, Fletch reconsidered the speech he’d formulated last night during the long hours before dawn chased away the darkness. In the light of day, it seemed somehow stilted and much too cold and clinical. That wasn’t the mood he wanted to create with this lovely, vibrant woman, even if their relationship—such as it was—was destined to be short-lived.

  Maybe he’d wing it...and hope God provided the right words when he needed them.

  Rachel pushed through the door and led the way to the swing. He sat beside her and set it moving with a prod of his foot. The fragrance of the jasmine wafted their way, and he inhaled the scent, wishing it could sweeten the words he had to say.