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The Sheriff's Second Chance
Leandra Logan
Ethan was determined to walk Kelsey to her door and make one more attempt to steal that kiss he was aching for
He never had liked her mother’s front stoop, a concrete block with two steps cut into it. There was nowhere to hide up there under the porch light. Grasping Kelsey’s arm before she could take that first step, he firmly yanked her behind the closest azalea bush.
Kelsey gasped, her eyes dancing in the shadows. “What’s all this? Are we doing the old hide-and-seek thing?”
“The adult version, where nobody hides.” He cupped her chin and locked his mouth to hers for a bold, hot taste. She didn’t resist at all.
The impossible dream was beginning to unfold. It just wasn’t supposed to happen behind a bush. In the end it was the sound of his own car horn, in the care of the two teens, that brought Ethan back to his senses. “Guess this is good-night,” he said, halfheartedly.
“Yes, Ethan.” With a sweet smile she urged him out from behind the shrub. “Thanks a lot. I had so much fun.”
The car horn honked again, making him scowl. “I better go.” He backed away, pointing a finger at her. “To be continued.”
Dear Reader,
The signpost ahead reads Maple Junction, Wisconsin. You’re arriving just in time to make the trip with hometown girl Kelsey Graham. She’s been away for ten years and is very unsure what to expect, even from trusty boy-next-door Ethan Taggert. Along the path to maturity they’d played off one another in fits of pleasure, frustration and disappointment, never quite clicking to make a lasting love match. Despite the fact that they’d parted on a note of disappointment, Ethan is determined to finally make that love connection happen.
Readers often wonder what inspires my writing. This particular story originated with a brief article about a prom couple’s fatal accident along a rural road. The idea that such a euphoric event could turn so devastating deeply touched me. I quickly began to formulate a story through a series of questions. What if a passenger in the car survived? What if her small town blamed her for the crash? What if a memory loss prevented her from knowing the truth herself? Could faith, forgiveness and a little detective work finally make things better?
Kelsey soon came into being, followed by the boy who’d loved her, lost her and lived to regret it. I hope you enjoy the result.
Warm regards as always,
The Sheriff’s Second Chance
Leandra Logan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Leandra Logan is an award-winning author with over thirty books to her credit. She lives in the historic Minnesota town of Stillwater with her husband. Her interests include boating, golfing, gardening and spending time with children and friends.
Books by Leandra Logan
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
559—SECRET AGENT DAD
601—THE LAST BRIDESMAID
732—FATHER FIGURE
880—FAMILY: THE SECRET INGREDIENT
960—WEDDING ROULETTE
1016—FLIRTING WITH TROUBLE
1108—SUGARTOWN
Contents
Chapter One (#ucc6d85cb-df33-52ad-b582-ef78f70261f0)
Chapter Two (#ucb797330-0812-5598-9ced-c38fdb3150b3)
Chapter Three (#ue573d0b1-2136-580b-927e-c8862d5b8c8f)
Chapter Four (#ub7cb0819-941d-5b99-86f7-58c711f9b847)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
It was the end of another school year.
Kelsey Graham sat at her broad oak desk at the front of the classroom, sorting through the homemade cards and gifts from her twenty-three first graders. They were technically second graders now, which some of the cards made clear with large numeral twos carefully traced atop heads on stick bodies, and houses with small roofs and giant chimneys.
The seven-year-old mind, so full of imagination and hope, never ceased to fascinate and amaze her. Forget television. Give a kid some paper and a box of crayons….
It was easy for anyone to dream on such a beautiful day. To gaze beyond the long open windows facing the school courtyard, let the mind wander on the warm breezes scented with peonies and freshly cut grass.
Spring into summer plans! she’d quipped to her students this afternoon over homemade cookies and lemonade. Many of the youngsters had announced trips to Disney World, Cape Cod, Hawaii. No surprise in this affluent Philadelphia neighborhood.
The most important thing, she’d insisted, as they’d crowded round for a farewell hug, was to enjoy their moms and dads, brothers and sisters. To laugh and play and tell stories, just as they had in the classroom. To take a few photographs to enjoy later on…
Kelsey’s gaze landed back on the empty rows of pint-sized desks and she felt a wistful pang. Last Day Letdown. She recognized the symptoms very well, having suffered from them on this final day of each of the past five school years.
Fueled with new purpose, she gripped the edge of the desk, rolled back her chair and stood. She turned and began to dismantle the dancing alphabet display from one of the cork squares flanking the blackboard, dropping the colorful construction-paper pieces into a box on the floor. She’d need a ladder to get at the train of twelve boxcars, designating months of the year, tacked out of reach above the board.
As if by telepathy, janitor Marta Lynch appeared with a metal step ladder. Like Kelsey, she was trim and toned, of average height and weight. But Marta was a full decade older than Kelsey’s twenty-eight years, and her clipped brown hair needed a routine dye job to cover some pesky gray strands. While Kelsey favored chic outfits like today’s navy linen suit with pink nylon shell, peppy Marta wore casual clothing more suited to her job. Today’s comical red T-shirt read Don’t Wanna Work. A joke, indeed, as she never stopped.
“Hi, Kel,” Marta chirped. “I figured you’d need your annual boost.”
This was a pep talk to help Kelsey let go of yet another year’s worth of bright faces that had shaped her life. In her own cheery way, Marta tried to steer Kelsey to activities that would make the summer months fly, and fill the void until another classful of kids marched in to give Kelsey’s life fresh purpose and direction.
“Thanks, Marta,” she said through a mouthful of stick pins.
“Hey, swallow those and you’ll need an ambulance!” Marta propped the ladder against the wall to march over and pull the pins free.
There was an informality between Kelsey and all the maintenance staff that allowed this kind of scolding. She’d grown up working in her mother’s Cozy Home Café back in tiny Maple Junction, Wisconsin where there were no prima donnas among the cooks, potato peelers and dishwashers in the kitchen. Everyone pitched in where needed without a whimper.
This democratic approach had not caught fire with most of the faculty here at Hancock Grammar School. The other teachers believed in keeping a lofty distance from the maintenance workers and felt it within their right to make pretentious demands of them. While Kelsey’s friendlier approach wasn’t a bid to score more perks, it did win her prompt spill cleanup and lightbulb replacements, as well as the latest hydraulic chair every autumn.
Marta had taken the pins to an open container on the desk and was perusing Kelsey’s farewell loot.
“You can rummage,” invited Kelsey. “I already noted who gave me what.”
Marta chuckled as she picked up a shimmery pink sack of potpourri. “This is from the Walters boy. The principal has already put his in the trash.” She moved the pin box to the chalk tray near the blackboard, looking Kelsey straight in the eye. “I advise you to do the same. His granny uses some illegal substances along with the cinnamon and rosemary. Of the hallucinatory kind.”
“Marta!” Kelsey laughed. “How ridiculous.”
“Ha. Put that brew in your panty drawer and you risk being raided.”
“It smells wonderful and will be fine in a bowl on my kitchen table.” The table was just a small one that barely fit in the nook of her studio apartment, but she liked the word kitchen. She and her mother Clare both loved to cook.
Marta shrugged. “Well, at least don’t set that nickel bag of tricks on fire.”
“I think in today’s market, the bags are worth at least a dime.”
“Whatever.” Marta strolled back to the desk and sifted through the cards, still heavy and damp with paste. “The sentiments on these are always so sweet—wishes and kisses, hearts and smiles.”
“Yeah.” Kelsey sighed and tugged at the crepe paper trimming the cork’s wood frame. “So many big dreams in those little people. Unspoiled.” For now.
“So, you and the boyfriend have any hot summer plans?”
“Tanner and I are finished.”
“Really? For good?”
“You had to see it coming, Marta.”
“I knew you weren’t happy, but didn’t know for sure he would be for the chop. After all, you’ve bickered before and had the best of fun making up.”
Kelsey winced. “The chop sounds so brutal. We just said goodbye.” Despite Marta’s graphic terminology, there was no denying that she’d gotten the gist of Kelsey’s relationship with Tanner. They shared a chemistry that kept them both hungry and satisfied, breaking up and making up.
Ultimately, she had been forced to face the reality that was Tanner. A bit younger than Kelsey, he was still wangling the best deal his communications degree could get him. During this quest, he worked at Star-bucks, obsessed over basketball and video games. There were also Tanner’s parties. Much like fraternity bashes, they centered around junk food and a keg of beer. Understandable, perhaps, as Tanner had only been out of college two years.
Kelsey had foolishly decided to hurry along his maturity, offering direction and fresh goals. After all, he had so much potential. But in the heat of their worst argument ever, he’d accused her of treating him like one of her students.
Tanner had Kelsey figured and had every right to be annoyed. Of course, he was clueless why she’d suddenly changed. Kelsey had originally been attracted to his aimless approach because her own college years had been pretty grim, dealing with regrets better left back in Maple Junction.
Sadly, she’d finally discovered it was too late for a replay.
She could have loosened up a bit more, got into hiphop and learned to navigate a PlayStation. But she didn’t really want to.
“On second thought, maybe there is no better way to describe my breakup than the chop.”
Rather than amuse Marta, this remark deepened her frown. “Maybe you should’ve hung on to him through the summer, just for some fun.”
“No. I can’t bear one more burping rendition of the Green Acres theme song from a gang of magna-cumlaude grads.” Kelsey tossed the last of the colorful display into the box and joined Marta at the desk.
“How will you fill your time?” Marta asked bleakly.
“Well, there’s Toby Schuler and Debbie Kinny, they seem friendly,” said Kelsey, referring to two singles who’d joined the teaching staff that year.
“Oh, sure. Toby is a mama’s boy who’s going to spend the summer watching movies. As for Debbie, all she plans to do is haunt the thrift stores and read trashy magazines.” At Kelsey’s look of surprise, Marta shrugged. “I hear loads of stuff cleaning the faculty lounge. People act like I’m not even there and it’s a mighty handy way to get a scoop.”
“Okay, so I save them for an emergency. I also have my girlfriends from college.”
“Every year, more of those Bryn Mawr College pals are getting married and moving to the suburbs.”
“They’re not exactly dead yet,” Kelsey grumbled.
“Death and marriage are similar transitions in the eye of a single person, right? I mean, when it comes down to availability.”
With a huff, Kelsey set her briefcase atop the clutter, released the twin clasps and opened the lid. “Make yourself useful and help me stack the cards in here.”
Marta admired a card cut into a crooked half moon before putting it in the case. “You know what I mean. When you’re single there’s always a hassle in getting together with married girlfriends. The hubby’s brother is coming to dinner, or the baby has a diaper rash, or the older kid has a tuba lesson.”
Kelsey eyed her wryly. “Those some of your excuses to friends?”
“I only wish my boys had played an instrument. But as you know, they only love hockey. As it turns out, most of my friends are the mothers of other players. I guess it’s because we spend so much time together in the bleachers. You’re welcome to hang out with me—” she paused “—in a pinch.”
“I don’t think I’d fit in without my own hockey player.” Kelsey left the greeting cards to Marta and retrieved an empty baked bean box from the floor to pack away the gifts. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”
Marta picked up a bottle of cheap cologne, popped the cap and took a whiff. “Phew! Lily of the valley. All the rage over at the nursing home.”
Kelsey snatched it away and set it gently in the box. “Do the cards.” She’d collected a pretty wooden bird-house she could put on her condo’s small balcony, a box of chocolates for her nightstand and a collection of colored ink pens she’d use to write letters to her mother. Clare wasn’t into e-mails or anything to do with computers for that matter. She wasn’t open to change, being entirely focused on the café. Just as Kelsey was with teaching.
Among the wealth of gifts, there were a number of mugs proclaiming her World’s Best Teacher. Even with a cupboard full of them, she still enjoyed getting more, as each one was reinforcement of her life’s narrow mission.
Moving the briefcase to the opposite side of the desk, Marta tipped it just enough to send the contents sliding and expose some of the personal papers Kelsey routinely dealt with during her free time.
Marta spouted, “No harm done,” before righting the case again but suddenly spotted a neon-orange sheet of paper. “Hey, what’s this?”
