Second Chance Mom

by EMILIE ROSE

  A quick visual exam revealed Chastity was intact and not in jeopardy. Adrenaline drained. “A bathing suit? No. Why?”

  “Because tomorrow’s a teacher’s workday. No school. We’re going to the lake with the Weavers.”

  Rachel’s stomach swooped like a dive-bombing raptor. “Aren’t they sick?”

  “Not anymore. They’re picking us up in the morning.”

  “Chastity, you should have asked me first.”

  The comment earned her an exasperated sigh. “You’re the one who said you have nothing to do with your days. We have to take a lunch, and you’ll need a swimsuit. Let’s go buy you one. And I’m picking it out. You’re fashion-challenged.”

  Rachel winced. She didn’t want to go to the lake, but she wouldn’t dare let Chastity go alone and risk the Weavers undermining Chastity’s current enthusiasm.

  “The mall’s forty minutes from here, so we’d better go now.”

  “What about homework?”

  “I’ll do it in the car.”

  Shopping with her daughter was something Rachel had often dreamed of doing but never thought she’d get to experience. She grabbed her purse. A trickle of excitement tempered her dread.

  Chastity diligently did her homework while Rachel drove. At the mall Chastity pointed to a store. “Let’s go there. That’s where older people shop.”

  “Ouch,” Rachel mumbled. The kid was rough on her ego.

  Inside, Chastity perused a rack and handed Rachel a flowered suit worthy of a retirement home. “I’m not wearing that.”

  A frown curved the girl’s lips. “Mom has—had a swim dress like this.”

  Oops. Rachel held up a simple black maillot. “How about this?”

  “That might work.” Chastity grabbed three more and pointed toward the fitting rooms. “I want to see each one.”

  Rachel fought a chuckle over Chastity’s bossiness and ducked into a stall. The first suit was cut lower in the front than she’d realized and higher at the legs. Feeling as if she might spill out if she bent over, she reluctantly tugged at the fabric. “This one’s a no.”

  “Let me see.” Chastity ripped the curtain open. She gave Rachel the once-over and made a circle in the air with her finger. Rachel dutifully turned. She hadn’t owned a swimsuit in years. There’d been no need. And she felt...exposed.

  “You have a decent figure. But that suit’s too Hoochie Momma. And you look like a ghost. We should hit the tanning booth after this.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not interested in melanoma.”

  Chastity rewarded her with another eye roll. “Whatever. Next.”

  The curtain rattled closed. And so it went for the endless stream of suits Chastity brought her to try on.

  “I like that one,” Chastity pronounced finally.

  Rachel twisted to look in the mirror at the plunging back of the bright orange tank. It almost dipped to her crack. “I don’t know...”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s cut really low in the back, and the gathers draw attention to my butt.”

  “You have a nice butt, and the suit covers everything important.”

  Damned with faint praise. “I don’t think—”

  “That bright color looks good on you, and the others are too sexy. You don’t want to look sexy. Coach Johnston will be there.”

  And just like that, the balloon of fun Rachel had been floating on popped. She definitely did not want to go to the lake now. But unless she woke up sick, she had no choice. All the way home she prayed she’d catch the virus going around before morning.

  * * *

  “LET’S GO! LET’S GO! Let’s go!” Chastity shouted before bounding out the front door.

  The girl was nothing if not enthusiastic. Rachel smiled and shook her head. Dreading the day ahead, she grabbed the cooler, beach bag and towels and headed out slowly. Seeing Matt and his truck with a long, low boat behind it parked at the end of the driveway stopped her in her tracks. She hadn’t expected him here.

  He stood by the open passenger doors. Chastity had already climbed inside. He strode toward Rachel.

  His swim trunks and tank top accentuated the thickness of his quadriceps, his lean hips, flat belly and the breadth of his shoulders. Every cell in her body snapped to attention.

  Why couldn’t she have awoken sick?

  “Good morning, Rachel.”

  His deep voice rumbled over her, scooping up a big pool of heat and depositing it in her abdomen. She couldn’t read his expression behind his darkly tinted lenses, but she felt naked in her swimsuit and the black crocheted cover-up that barely hit the tops of her thighs. Her toes curled in the flip-flops Chastity had insisted she purchase.

  “’Morning. I thought Brad was picking us up.”

  “Not enough room for everybody in his truck. Here, I’ll take that.” He reached for the cooler. She didn’t release it fast enough, and their fingers brushed. A burst of static electricity jolted her.

  He retraced his path and set the Igloo in the truck bed. She caught herself checking out his tight, firm behind and mentally kicked herself. Then she looked up directly into Chastity’s puzzled face. Get a grip, Rach.

  Matt gestured to the towels and her bag. “Better keep those in the cab or they’ll blow out.”

  He waited by the truck. Her sluggish synapses finally connected, and she realized he was holding her door. Good ol’ Southern charm. Face burning, she scrambled into the cab and hoped he wasn’t looking at her butt.

  Why hadn’t she bought the tent-like swim dress Chastity had chosen initially?

  “Can you swim?” he asked Rachel as he slid behind the wheel.

  “Yes. But it’s been a while.”

  “Ever water-ski or wakeboard?”

  He smelled of Matt and coconut sunscreen, a mouthwatering combination. “No to both.”

  “We can get her on the tow tube, can’t we, Coach?”

  “Sure. If she’s not chicken and she can swim well enough,” he said, addressing Chastity through the rearview mirror as he put the vehicle in motion. Then he turned to Rachel. “I have extra life jackets. Keep yours on until I say otherwise.”

  “But her tan lines—” Chastity protested.

  “Won’t matter if she drowns,” Matt finished. Then he glanced at Rachel’s legs. “You could use a little sun.”

  “I tried to tell her,” Chastity said in a know-it-all tone.

  Rachel wanted to go home. Not just to Hope’s. Home. To Atlanta. Far away from the unsettled feelings Matt provoked. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of playing outside for a living.”

  Her snarky comment earned her a sideways grin that twisted her tummy into knots. “I’m definitely blessed in that respect.” He glanced into the mirror at Chastity, then back at Rachel. “I can see Chastity’s very excited, but what about you? Glad you came?”

  “I’m always happy to spend a day with Chastity.”

  He let her evasion pass. Minutes later a wide expanse of sparkling, rippling lake came into view. “I don’t remember this from...before,” Rachel said.

  “It wasn’t here. They dammed the river five or six years ago. Construction on the shores has only just begun. The new marinas and neighborhoods will bring growth and revenue to our area.”

  Spoken like a future politician.

  He pulled into a big circle at the top of a steep ramp leading down into the water and stopped. “You can get into the boat now.”

  Glad to escape, Rachel clambered out. Johnathan, Pam’s son, met them. He helped Matt move gear to the boat, then boarded and sat behind the wheel. Rachel climbed on board and anxiously settled in a rear seat.

  “Johnathan, get Rachel a life jacket,” Matt called out before back
ing the trailer and boat toward the water. The weird floaty sensation of rocking in the boat on dry land reminded Rachel of riding in the rickety trucks they used on her medical missions overseas. She held on tightly to her seat. Matt pulled away, leaving the boat in the water, then Johnathan drove them away from the dock.

  “Are you old enough to drive a boat?” she asked the boy. He was younger than Jessica.

  “Yes, ma’am. And I took the boater safety course. Uncle Matt’s all about drills and safety. He made me practice every possible disaster before he let me drive solo.”

  “You’re not going to get sick, are you?” Chastity asked from her perch in the bow.

  “I don’t think so.” She hoped not. That would be humiliating.

  When Matt returned, the teen pulled up to the end of the dock, and Matt boarded, taking the seat opposite Rachel. He planted his feet flat on the deck and splayed his knees. The narrowness of the boat had their legs almost touching. The sudden powering up of the engine as Johnathan pulled away from shore didn’t throw her off balance nearly as much as Matt stripping off his shirt to reveal his incredible golden whorl-dusted torso did. She dropped her gaze. It landed on an old and faded white scar bisecting his knee.

  “What happened there?” she asked.

  “Old football injury. Nothing important.” His tense muscles belied his dismissive tone. “You’re missing the scenery.”

  She let him change the subject—she could get more information out of Pam. Forcing her gaze away, she looked directly into Chastity’s watchful eyes. “You’ve come out here with the Weavers before?”

  “Yep. Lots.”

  “Did your mom come?”

  “No. She gets—got seasick.”

  “Hope didn’t ride in anything she couldn’t drive,” Matt added.

  Rachel hadn’t known that. It seemed as if Matt and his family knew more about Hope and Chastity than Rachel.

  Johnathan turned the boat into a cove and cut the engine. They drifted toward a group waving from the biggest inflatable raft Rachel had ever seen. It had to be ten or twelve feet across. She barely registered another boat anchored on the opposite side.

  Chastity sprang up. “C’mon, Aunt Rachel.” Then she launched over the side. Johnathan dived in behind her. Both swam toward the raft. Matt took the driver’s seat.

  “What is that thing?” Rachel asked.

  “Party Island. It’s where you hang out when you’re not tubing, skiing or wakeboarding. Go ahead. Jump. I’ll drop off your cooler and towels.”

  Swimming wasn’t an issue. Stripping off her cover-up in front of him was. He eased up sideways to the raft.

  “Can’t I just climb over?”

  “Too risky. You might fall between the raft and the boat hull and get mashed.” He passed their gear to Brad, who rocked precariously as he stretched for each item. Matt’s gaze settled on Rachel when she hesitated.

  “On second thought, sit down. I’m going to give Rachel a tour of the lake,” he called out. Then, without Rachel’s permission, he shifted the boat into Reverse and left her chaperones behind.

  Relieved that she could keep her clothes on for a few more minutes but not thrilled about being alone with him, she perched on the cushion.

  “Sit here,” he shouted, pointing at the seat beside him.

  She shook her head. “I’m good.”

  “Harder to play tour guide if I have to yell.”

  With no way to avoid it, she rose and inched forward, clutching seat backs along her way until she reached the captain’s seat. Sitting as close to the edge as she could, she looked everywhere but at the bare, bronzed torso beside her. But each time he pointed at something, his thick biceps flexed in her field of vision. Then they bumped over a wave, and their thighs and shoulders rubbed. Her heart floated up her throat.

  Rachel averted her gaze and studied the shorelines. A distant red barn caught her eye. She straightened. It couldn’t be. Could it? Then he drew closer and cut the engine. “Remember this place?”

  She’d only seen it at night, but how could she forget it? She’d lost her virginity in the barn’s loft. So had he. The first time had lasted all of thirty seconds and left her wanting something she hadn’t understood. And then he’d tried again. That second, slower effort had rocked her world as had each encounter afterward. She gulped the lump in her throat. To this day when she smelled hay, she had flashbacks of that night.

  “I don’t remember the river.”

  “Wasn’t here then. You know, Mom never mentioned her missing quilt.”

  They’d left it behind in their hasty escape when the farmer had arrived unexpectedly. She ignored the smile in his voice and the heat pulsing through her and turned to the opposite shore. “The road is underwater.”

  “Right. It’s one of the best fishing spots on the lake. Ask Chastity. She’s caught a few big ones there.”

  He’d been there. Rachel hadn’t. “She sent me a picture of her and her catch once.”

  “Do you ever think about those days?”

  Too often. “I try not to.”

  “We had some good times.”

  “Yes. But I did a lot of things back then that I shouldn’t have. Hope was trying to help me, and I embarrassed her.”

  “Do you regret us?”

  How did she answer that? “Shouldn’t we get back to the others?”

  He leveled a look on her, but with the dark glasses covering his eyes, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “One more stop.”

  “Matt, I’m not really interested in a trip down memory lane.”

  “This isn’t one.”

  Good. All she had to do was sit and be quiet. Soon she’d be back with her buffers—the Weavers.

  * * *

  MATT PUSHED THE throttle forward. He could tell from the rapid rise and fall of Rachel’s breasts beneath the sexy, semi-see-through thing she wore that she remembered how good it had been between them. He just had to let nature take its course.

  He had two objectives. First, he wanted some one-on-one time with Rachel to see if this fascination was just an itch he needed to scratch, and second, he needed to make sure she’d be safe in the water. He could achieve both at the park’s recreational area. The sandy shoreline and roped-off swimming areas came into view. Both were deserted, as he’d hoped they’d be early on a weekday. He aimed a word of thanks at the cloudless blue sky.

  “How experienced a swimmer are you?”

  “I took lessons in college so I could pass the required swim test, but other than a couple of Chattahoochee River rafting trips with coworkers, I rarely have an opportunity to practice my skills.”

  He coasted until the bow gently bumped the beach beside the cordoned swimming area, then tossed the anchor.

  “What are you doing?” Rachel asked with a tinge of alarm in her voice.

  “Making sure you can swim.”

  “I told you I could.”

  “Now you’re going to show me.”

  “Matt—”

  “Leave the life jacket here. I’ll be right beside you.” She shrugged it off and turned. “And the dress. It’ll weigh you down.”

  She glared—something he could clearly see since she hadn’t brought sunglasses. “Is this really necessary?”

  “Safety first. The water’s thirty feet deep by the party raft.” She reached for her hem, and his heart pumped faster with anticipation. He’d been enjoying her long, smooth legs all morning. Now he savored the curve of her hips in the hunter’s-orange suit, the nip of her waist and—he nearly choked on his own spit. Her breasts hadn’t been that...full before. The bump of her nipples was impossible to miss. Rachel resembled the kind of Sports Illustrated model’s picture that his players would tape inside their lockers.

  She parked her hands on her hi
ps. “Now what, Captain?”

  Her sarcasm would have been cute if he could unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth. He shook off his distraction as he would a bad tackle attempt. “Wade ashore. We’ll take a dip inside the swimming area to see what you can do.”

  She clamored awkwardly over the side. Her rear view was as mouthwatering as her front. There were little gathers in the spandex cinching it up her crack and outlining each perfect globe. He whistled silently, removed his shades and followed her. As sizzling as she looked in her suit and as overheated as she made him, it was a miracle the water didn’t boil around them as she slushed out until she was waist deep. Then she struck out in a rusty crawl to the rope, turned and trod water until he caught up. With a depth of six feet, he could touch bottom. She couldn’t.

  The urge to pull her into his arms, to hold her wet body against his and kiss her hit him hard. She must have read his thoughts because her defiant expression turned wary. She backstroked, reached for the rope, missed and bobbed under water slightly—just up to her widened eyes.

  He reached for her. To help. But the moment he made contact with the firm wet curve of her waist he knew that was a lie. He ached for her worse than he had fourteen years ago, and visiting their old haunt had only exacerbated the situation. He eased her closer.

  “Matt,” she cautioned, and he ignored her. Her slippery legs tangled with his a split second before he covered her mouth. Her squeak of protest morphed into an “Mmm” that rumbled through his chest. Her hands stopped treading and anchored on his shoulders—stiff-armed as if to hold him away. He was about to release her and apologize, even though he wasn’t sorry, when she relaxed and floated into him, her breasts settling against his chest.

  Not close enough. He snaked his other arm around her, stroked down her spine and cupped her bottom, urging her hips toward the erection threatening to puncture the seam of his trunks. She startled on contact, then wound her legs around him and locked her ankles at the base of his spine. He thought he’d explode even faster than he had that embarrassing first time in the barn when she’d helped him roll on the condom.

  He savored her lips, her tongue, the bumpy roof of her mouth. She shuddered and dug her nails into his skin the way a cat kneads the one making it purr.