Second Chance Mom

by EMILIE ROSE

  “Matt, don’t,” she protested and squirmed in the band of his arms, but he held tight.

  “You and Chastity have each other to lean on.”

  If anything, she grew more tense. “What if—”

  “‘What if’ what?”

  She tilted her head up. Worry filled her brown eyes and pleated her brow. “What if I fail her? What do I know about being a mother? Or about teenagers? I had all these fantasies about how well we’d get along, but...it’s not going too well.”

  The admission punched him in the gut. Her fear of failing to live up to others’ expectations had been one of the qualities that had ensnared him the last time. She’d hidden it from others behind a rebellious facade, but for some reason she’d shared her true feelings with him. Hope and her parents had set high standards—standards she’d confessed she couldn’t meet. Her honesty about that had bound them together in a way he’d never experienced before or since, because even though he’d never confessed it to anyone, he’d shared that same anxiety of not being good enough.

  His father had been the high school’s football hero, but he’d given up a college scholarship and an almost certain chance at a pro-football career when Matt’s mother became pregnant with Matt. From the time Matt had hit peewee league his father had lived vicariously through each of Matt’s achievements. And Matt had done his best to repay him for the sacrifice he’d made. But then he’d disappointed them all—his father and the citizens of Johnstonville who’d been expecting him to put their little town on the map.

  “You need to be her parent, not her friend. You’ll find your feet. We survivors always do.” Hope-filled eyes met his. And held. Desire crowded out the defeat lead-weighting his stomach. His pulse thumped in his ears and his groin. He should push Rachel away, but he couldn’t. Why did she affect him like no other woman?

  Only one way to find out.

  He pulled her closer. Her lips parted on a gasp a split second before he covered them. Then it happened. That shooting star sensation that he hadn’t experienced since Rachel had kissed him fourteen years ago, then a new meteor shower rained down on him.

  After a heartbeat’s hesitation, she leaned into him. He stroked her soft bottom lip with his tongue, then her hot wet flesh met his with a deft counterstroke that decimated him. This. This was what he’d been searching for.

  He cupped her wet head and kissed her deeper, trying to recapture years’ worth of denial. She wasn’t close enough. He lifted her from the blanket and settled her in his lap. Her clothing saturated his, but he didn’t care. His only concern was that Rachel kissed him back. Her hands fisted in his shirt. He cradled her face, relearning the curve of her jaw, her ear, her neck, her shoulder, her surprisingly firm biceps. And then he cupped her breast. Her quick inhalation sucked the air from his lungs. Then she pressed into his palm, a taut nipple prodding him. He stroked it with his thumb, and a moan filled his mouth. Hers? Or his?

  Her hands splayed on his chest, kneading and giving rise to more heat and passion than he could handle here. In his truck. In the street. In the middle of downtown. Sobering slightly, he reluctantly released her mouth and rested his forehead on hers. Her panted breaths warmed his lips. Rain or not, the stores would be opening soon.

  “Rachel, honey, we can’t do this here.”

  She blinked slowly, then bolted upright. Her eyes widened with horror. She scrambled back to her side of the cab and glanced around. The windows had fogged on the inside. Rain still coated the outside. No one could have seen them. But that looked suspiciously like shame darkening her face.

  “We can’t do this at all, Matt. I can’t handle another fling. And I’m not staying in Johnstonville long enough for it to become anything else.”

  And he wasn’t leaving. This was his home. The people here had stood by him when he’d crashed and burned. And then there were the expectations for his future... He had obligations. Desire fizzed like a doused wildfire, but a persistent ember smoldered. “Johnstonville’s a nice place to raise a family—if you’re not always looking for mischief.”

  Her face paled. “I will not stay here. And I don’t want Chastity raised here. I’m counting the days until we can leave this judgmental, grudge-holding town.” She yanked the door handle. It remained locked. “Please, let me out.”

  Unless he changed her mind about staying, he had no future with Rachel. Did he want one? Maybe.

  And maybe he needed his head examined.

  “I’ll take you home.” He hit the defrost button. The second he could see through the windshield, he put the truck in gear. Tension filled the cab the entire ride back to Hope’s house.

  As soon as he stopped in the driveway, she reached for the door handle. “When you get back to Pam’s, could you ask Chastity to call me when she needs a ride home?”

  “Rachel, I work with teens every day. I’ll help you figure things out with her.”

  That earned him a suspicious frown. “Why?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do. For Chastity’s sake. And because Hope would want me to.” Did he imagine her flinch? He released the childproof locks. She vaulted from the cab and sprinted for the house. He watched her until she was safely inside.

  It was halftime. He could walk off the field defeated and let her go, or he could regroup and see if the chemistry between them was more than just nostalgia for the woman who’d been his first love. If he chose the latter, he would need one hell of a good playbook. And probably a cast-iron heart.

  Who was he kidding? He’d never been a quitter.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  RACHEL BOLTED INTO the house, slammed the door and sagged against it, banging her head on the jam. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

  “I am not stupid!” Chastity snapped from the hallway.

  Rachel startled and straightened. “Sorry. I was talking to myself. What are you doing here? I thought you were working on your project at Jessica’s.” She reached out to flip the light switch. Nothing happened. She flipped it again. Zilch.

  “Power’s out. And the boys were making too much noise. So we went over to Mrs. Johnston’s.”

  “Matt’s mom’s?”

  “Yeah. Then the power went out there, too. We couldn’t use the internet. Where have you been?” The hysteria in Chastity’s voice was impossible to miss.

  “I was taking things to the donation site. You knew I was doing that this morning.”

  “But Mrs. Weaver was getting her tire fixed.”

  “Matt took me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Nobody tells me anything. You could have called or left a note,” she railed back.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to come back so soon. How did you get home? You didn’t ride your bike in the storm, did you?”

  “I said I wasn’t stupid. Mrs. Johnston brought me. I didn’t know where you were. Your car was here. And you weren’t. If I had a cell phone, I could’ve called you.”

  Here we go again. Stay calm. Don’t overreact. “The house phone—”

  “Is digital. It doesn’t work when the power’s out.”

  “You’re not getting a cell phone,” Rachel stated as firmly as she could.

  “Jess has one.”

  “You’re not Jessica.” Rachel wanted to slap a hand over her mouth. How many times had she begged for something and been denied with similar words from her mother?

  Chastity flailed an arm toward the dining room. “Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of Mom’s stuff anyway? It’s not like it would’ve killed you to wait until I could help.”

  “I’m sorry. You said you didn’t want to.” Part of that, Rachel suspected, was because Chastity wasn’t ready to accept her mom’s passing. But Rachel refused to force Chastity to discuss her loss before she was ready.

  “Plus, I have to do some
thing productive with my days while I’m here.”

  “Get a job.”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to an employer when we’re leaving in a few weeks.”

  Chastity folded her arms and jacked up her chin. Fury gleamed in her overly lined eyes. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Our deal was I agreed to stay until you graduated eighth grade. You promised.”

  “What if I fail and I have to stay for summer school?” Belligerence replaced her panicked tone.

  “Is that likely?”

  Chastity’s only answer was a shoulder roll.

  “Do I need to set up conferences with your teachers?”

  “No! Mind your own business.”

  “You are my business now, Chastity.”

  “I don’t want to be. I want to stay here and go to cheerleading camp with Jess.”

  Rachel sighed. She’d been warned this would come up. “We’ve been over this. I have a job. They need me.”

  “Mom was right. You only ever think of yourself. You are never going to be as good a mom as her.” Then she spun around, stomped into her room and slammed the door.

  The arrow hit its target. Rachel pressed a hand to her aching chest. She might never be as good a mother as Hope. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. She started after Chastity, then stopped when she realized she had no idea what to say. She’d let Chastity calm down. Maybe later she’d have the perfect words.

  But today had made two things very clear. First, as much as she wanted to avoid Matt, she would have to accept his offer of help with Chastity because she had no idea how to handle a temperamental teen.

  Second, she needed something to do besides think about Matt’s kiss. The perfect distraction was something she had to do anyway—try to find out why Hope had died. Otherwise, she would let her mind continue to be occupied with thoughts of Matt and end up getting her heart broken again.

  Because she still wanted Matt.

  And she still couldn’t have him.

  * * *

  PAM HOVERED IN the doorway Sunday morning. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with us?”

  Rachel smothered her urge to recoil. Going to church with Matt’s family and sitting in the pew beside them when she was living a lie seemed like hypocrisy. “I need to make a few phone calls while Chastity’s out of the house.”

  Curiosity lit Pam’s eyes. She gave Rachel a moment to elaborate. Rachel didn’t. Pam looked a bit hurt, which only amped up Rachel’s guilt. “Well, if you’re sure...”

  “I am. And thanks for taking her. It’s good to keep as much normality in her life as we can.”

  “Right. And if you need any help...with anything, I can stop by after church.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got it.”

  “Okay, then. Do you mind if Chastity comes home with us after the service? The girls need to put the finishing touch on their presentation.”

  “Sure. Sounds great.”

  Still, Pam hesitated. Then her van’s horn blew. She jumped. “Impatient kids. They love their Sunday school youth group. See you later.”

  Rachel waved them off. She waited until they were out of sight, then grabbed her keys, hopped in her car and headed for the Johnstonville police department. Sunday or not, police departments had to be open. Didn’t they?

  She located the small white brick building and went inside. The place was as quiet as a tomb, but the lights were on, and the entry was unlocked. “Hello?” she called out.

  A uniformed forty-something woman ambled in from a side room with a mug of coffee in her hand. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Rachel Bishop. Hope Bishop is—was my sister. I’d like to find out what I can about her accident.”

  “The accident was over a month ago.”

  The critical tone filled Rachel with shame. “I know. I just...” Words failed her. How could she explain what she didn’t understand?

  The woman’s expression softened. “It’s all right, hon. I know it’s hard to face losing a loved one.”

  Rachel didn’t correct her. She hadn’t sought facts before because... Maybe she hadn’t been ready to hear them. “I’m sorry to say I don’t recall the officer’s name who called me.”

  “Of course you don’t. Not after a shock like that. Officer Reed’s the one you need, and he’s at church. Then he spends Sunday afternoons with his grandmother at Shady Oaks. I can have him call you first thing tomorrow.”

  She didn’t want to wait but had no choice. “Thank you. Can I get a copy of the report today?”

  “I’ll print it out, but you really should talk to Officer Reed.” She tapped keys on her computer. A printer spewed paper. She pushed the report and a pink message pad across the counter. “Leave me your name and number, and I’ll have him call you.”

  Stymied by the dead end, Rachel did as requested. She didn’t want to return to the empty house and be reminded of her failed attempts to get through to Chastity yesterday afternoon or the eager way the teen had raced back to Matt’s mother’s place once the rain had stopped and the power had been restored. Rachel drove around town instead and found herself in front of Hope’s office. Who had been dealing with Hope’s clients in her absence? The guy Hope had worked for had retired years ago. Had another CPA taken his place? She didn’t know because she’d never asked.

  Rachel was forced to admit that she’d been as guilty as Chastity at avoiding certain topics, because she wasn’t ready to accept that Hope wasn’t coming back, either. She added yet another item to her “to deal with” list—checking to see that Hope’s client files were passed on to the appropriate persons. Maybe Hope’s lawyer would know.

  A truck that looked like Matt’s passed by. Her breath hitched and her body reawakened. The old man driving wasn’t Matt. But seeing the vehicle had reminded her of Matt’s kiss—something she wanted to forget.

  * * *

  RACHEL HAD SEEN a lot of wrecked vehicles. Several crumpled worse than this one. But none had nauseated her the way viewing the remains of Hope’s car did.

  Bile rose in her throat. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to settle her churning stomach and agitated nerves. A bad way to start her Monday, but this was the only time Officer Reed had to meet with her, and if she wanted answers, then she had to tough out this encounter.

  “Restrained passenger?” she asked.

  “More than that. Stuck.”

  Startled, she whipped around to the officer who hadn’t been on the Johnstonville force when she’d lived here. He’d called soon after Chastity left for school this morning and informed her that he’d not only written the report, he’d been the first on the scene. He’d suggested they meet at the salvage yard so he could talk her through the accident.

  “What do you mean stuck?”

  “She had on her seat belt, and judging by the friction burns on her neck, it functioned properly. But she also had her right hand jammed between the seat and console. Like she was reaching for something. Paramedics had to cut her bracelet to get her out. It looks like it got hung up.”

  A bracelet? Both Hope and their parents had condemned jewelry—even earrings—as vanity items. The only jewelry she’d been allowed had been a watch—and even that had to be plain and practical.

  “Your report said she wasn’t speeding.”

  “That’s right. I followed up with the guys in the garage to confirm. They said the mark on the speedometer glass shows impact below posted speed for that stretch of road, and as I told you on the phone, the taillights and lack of skid marks indicate she never applied the brakes. She hit the tree hard enough to force the engine into the passenger compartment. The steering column crushed her chest.”

  She tried to erase the mental image but couldn’t. “Weather wasn’t a factor?”

  “No, ma’am. Clear day
. Dry roads.”

  “Sun in her eyes?”

  He shook his head. “Southbound.”

  “Accidents don’t happen without cause.”

  “Not usually.”

  Frustration built. “Did you look for her cell phone? Maybe she dropped it. I’ve been on a lot of calls in which searching for dropped phones caused accidents.”

  “Same here. I looked, and then my partner did. We didn’t find a phone or I’d have used it for the ICE contact.”

  Who had been Hope’s “in case of emergency” contact?

  “Everything we found when we processed the scene was bagged,” the officer added. “Did you pick up her belongings yet?”

  “The salvage yard manager gave me a box when I arrived.” She hadn’t been able to bring herself to go through the contents. Hope’s purse, laptop and briefcase had been listed, along with numerous inconsequential items. The manager had assured her each item found had been documented. “I read the contents list. No phone.”

  “The car’s been searched. But if you want to go through it again, I have gloves—”

  She flinched. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  She’d treated patients trapped in vehicles before and dealt with bodily fluids on almost every shift. But that was her sister’s blood on the upholstery and the steering wheel. A chill raced over her, and goose bumps sprang up on her arms. She tried to rub them away. The constriction of her chest returned. She couldn’t go through Hope’s car. Not today.

  “The coroner said there were no drugs or alcohol in her system. You can call him if you want confirmation.”

  She shook her head, then forced herself to ask, “Deliberate?”

  “I sincerely doubt it. My best guess is that her front tire left the road, and with her right hand hung up she couldn’t recover. There’s a pretty deep drop-off along that section of pavement.”

  “That’s not in your report.”

  “No, because it’s a guess. I try to stick to the facts in my reports. Only your sister and the one who called her home really know what happened.”