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Second Chance Mom
Emilie Rose
It’s the reunion she didn’t expectRachel Bishop’s reckless past is back to haunt her. Her sister’s death has made her the guardian of a sullen teen and has brought her home to the secrets she’d run from—starting with Matt Johnston. Matt was the good guy who’d cracked her rebel-rousing teenage veneer. Now the handsome high school coach could destroy her hope of peacefully raising Chastity, the baby she secretly gave up to her sister years ago. To protect Matt and their daughter, Rachel must lie to them…but the heart won’t be ignored. If Rachel wants a second chance at family and with Matt, she must take a risk on love.
It’s the reunion she didn’t expect
Rachel Bishop’s reckless past is back to haunt her. Her sister’s death has made her the guardian of a sullen teen and has brought her home to the secrets she’d run from—starting with Matt Johnston. Matt was the good guy who’d cracked her rebel-rousing teenage veneer. Now the handsome high school coach could destroy her hope of peacefully raising Chastity, the baby she secretly gave up to her sister years ago. To protect Matt and their daughter, Rachel must lie to them...but the heart won’t be ignored. If Rachel wants a second chance at family and with Matt, she must take a risk on love.
Matt yanked up the armrest between them and turned in his seat.
“Talk to me, Rachel,” he said. “Like you used to.”
“Can we just go?”
Her ragged breath filled the otherwise silent cab. She needed comfort, and that was all he was offering when he hooked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her body across the seat.
“It’ll be okay. You and Chastity will have each other to lean on.”
She tilted her head up. Worry clouded her brown eyes. “What if I fail her? What do I know about being a mother? Or teenagers? I had all these fantasies about how great we’d get along, but...it’s not going too well.”
“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. 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 he hadn’t experienced since Rachel had kissed him fourteen years ago...
Dear Reader (#ulink_bc98849d-bc5a-54c1-ba01-6535ae92c98e),
What would you do if you had a chance for a “do-over” on the biggest regret from your past? Would you be willing to give up the good parts of your present life to erase that one bad decision?
Rachel and Matt’s story is the fruit from my writer’s brain which grew that idea. It led to more questions, such as how could something wrong also be right, and is it ever okay to tell a lie? Writers (especially me!) can spend hours debating issues like this.
Second Chance Mom is one of those stories that’s been slugging it out in my brain for a while. I only wish I’d had more pages! I feel as if I’ve only scraped the surface of Rachel, Matt and Chastity’s story. It will be interesting to hear what you think.
Emilie Rose
Second Chance Mom
Emilie Rose
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
USA TODAY bestselling author and two-time RITA® Award finalist EMILIE ROSE lives in North Carolina with her own romance hero. Writing is her third career. She’s managed a medical office and a home day care—neither offered half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. Her hobbies include gardening, fishing, cooking and traveling to find her next book setting. Visit her website, emilierose.com (http://www.emilierose.com), or email her at EmilieRoseAuthor@aol.com.
To my readers: without you,
I could not have lived my dream for 36 books.
Contents
Cover (#u308e62f8-6072-57f3-9e3b-4abae293d38d)
Back Cover Text (#ueef3f7f3-4c0a-593c-82c9-0bb65d04b75d)
Introduction (#ub728338e-0516-57a1-9b8e-14efd0a12292)
Dear Reader (#u1ae18d72-6d6a-5e51-9039-1a58bd62860c)
Title Page (#u1e7e1f3c-47a3-557e-865c-a521b0f33f95)
About the Author (#u391b7266-6c78-5950-a7c3-db7706b14ee7)
Dedication (#u0e5ac4d3-a242-5f7e-9bc8-a4ca5949bab3)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue26fc9e3-188f-5cc7-8708-68644844e20e)
CHAPTER TWO (#u337c4f9d-7af5-5cb2-823c-b5c6fe959986)
CHAPTER THREE (#ufaf24b02-cd59-5898-a381-838650f28ff0)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u5278c968-457a-501c-835a-b532888565d2)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ube6aaf05-0073-5976-b770-7421b92afc46)
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 SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_6dcd37d7-3dc2-57f0-967d-34fa01ffab30)
RACHEL BISHOP RETRACED the path to the detention officer’s classroom that she’d taken dozens of times nearly fifteen years ago. Her anxiety level increased with each step, even though she wasn’t the one in trouble. This time.
She’d faced down inner-city thugs, armed militants and deadly diseases: none of which had terrified her as much as the huge responsibility waiting inside room 127.
A second chance at parenthood. Was she up to it?
She had to be. Moments ago she’d signed papers accepting full custody of Chastity. She’d failed the child once before. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—this time.
Her knees locked in front of the closed classroom door. She blotted clammy palms on her pants and endeavored to subdue her rampant nerves. It said a lot about the conforming citizens of Johnstonville that their combination middle and high school only needed one room for the troublemakers. The school had changed little since she’d left. Would prune-faced Miss Gentry still be sitting behind the desk wearing her perpetual scowl?
Time to find out. Rachel pushed the door. It yielded with a sucking whoosh. Through the six-inch gap Rachel saw the old maid wasn’t in the front of the room. Instead, Matt Johnston, the last person she wanted or expected to see, occupied the teacher’s chair. Rachel froze, her automatic fight-or-flight response engaging. Every instinct screamed run. But she couldn’t.
She had loved Matt with all the passion her seventeen-year-old heart could contain, then she’d wronged him unforgivably. She wasn’t ready—would never be ready—to face him.
In seconds, her adrenaline-sharpened focus registered that his hair was darker than the sun-bleached blond she’d run her fingers through. But then his mesmerizing, make-her-forget-her-own-name blue eyes swung her way, and her stomach dropped as if she’d flown into an air pocket.
A roar filled her ears, and dizziness swamped her. She wanted to blame her reaction on jet lag, but her racing pulse said otherwise. It was fear. Not of Matt. But of everything he embodied. He represented her greatest failure. One that had nearly destroyed her. Afraid she’d fold into a heap on the floor, she gripped the door frame tighter and forced air into her constricted chest.
“May I help you?”
His familiar deep voice sent a fresh wave of panic through her. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled to attention. Matt didn’t know. He couldn’t. Her secret was safe. Hope had been the only one who’d known the truth, and her sister would never have told anyone—doing so would have damaged her saintly reputation.
Matt’s politely curious expression turned into annoyance when Rachel didn’t respond. He rose and crossed the room, blocking her entry by gripping the door in one big, familiar hand—one that had touched her intimately and taught her so much about pleasure. His defensive position displayed the added breadth of the chest and shoulders on which she’d once relished resting her cheek. That combined with the golden late-day stubble on his square chin magnified his masculinity and made him far more handsome than the twenty-one-year-old college boy he’d been back then.
But his crisply pressed shirt and pants told her one facet of his personality hadn’t changed. Matt had always been a little too polished and perfect. His neatness had challenged her, and she’d loved mussing his thick, perfectly combed hair and yanking his shirttail from his pants to run her hands over his muscles.
Her fingertips tingled. She fisted her hands and shoved them into her pants pockets to keep them out of trouble. Matt hadn’t been the man for her then. He wasn’t now—never could be. She should have left him alone all those years ago. But she’d been too self-destructive to be smart.
That was then. She’d learned a lot of painful lessons since.
“May I help you?” he repeated in a firmer tone.
“Hello, Matt.” Her voice came out as little more than a whisper. Before she could clear her throat and try again, his eyes narrowed. Then he recoiled in recognition. That stung.
“Rachel?” His gaze flashed over her like wildfire, igniting dormant cells like a match to a dry savanna. When his eyes returned to hers she saw his surprise and understood it.
He might look the same—only better—but she bore little resemblance to the mischief-making teen she’d been. Her loose cotton shirt and wrinkled khakis were a far cry from the formfitting clothing she’d once worn to entice him, and these days she adorned her face with nothing more than sunscreen.
She touched a hand to her hair. Most of it was still in the haphazard knot she’d twisted it into before beginning her exhausting trek, but bits and pieces had escaped. After four different airports and three time zones, she probably looked a mess. A touch of her old vanity made her wish she’d spruced up before entering the building.
“Yeah. Long time no see.” Her feigned nonchalance sounded believable. To her anyway. She leaned to look past him and into the classroom where the office secretary had said Rachel’s dau—niece was supposed to be, but the solid block that was Matt obscured her view. She heard a buzz of whispers. Was Chastity’s one of them? Excitement fizzed through Rachel’s veins.
Distrust flickered in Matt’s eyes. Could she blame him? No. She’d earned it.
“We’ll talk outside.” He turned to the class. “Get back to work on those essays.” He moved forward, forcing Rachel to retreat, then he closed the door between them and the students.
His scowl could scare small children. “It’s about time you showed up.”
“I came as soon as I could.”
“Hope’s funeral was weeks ago.” Anger and condemnation tinged his quiet words and flattened those sexy lips.
Irritation washed over her. Instead of asking why she’d missed her only sibling’s funeral, Matt seemed to be passing judgment on her like everyone else in this unforgiving town had always done. No one had ever bothered to ask why Rachel had rebelled. They’d only condemned her for it. At one time Matt had been the exception, but now he seemed to have boarded the censure train with everyone else.
Reining in her temper, she glanced down the hall and fought for calm. The eerie silence of a school after hours surrounded them. The corridor seemed private and intimate. Fertile ground for trouble.
She met Matt’s disapproving gaze but decided not to waste her breath with explanations. “I’m here now. Is Chastity in there?”
“Yes. She’s striking out at everyone who tries to help with her grief and stirring up all kinds of trouble. Her schoolwork and behavior have suffered.”
“And the answer to her pain is to send her to detention?”
Matt’s lips curled downward. “The staff has been as helpful and patient as possible, but she cussed out a substitute teacher. That left us with no options except detention or expulsion.”
“Who’d she curse at? And what unfeeling sonofabitch would punish a grieving kid?”
His frown deepened grooves beside his mouth—grooves he hadn’t had when she’d kissed every inch of his face. “Me. I cut her some slack, but I can’t allow her to undermine my authority with my students.” His eyes narrowed. “Acting out to get attention is something you should understand all too well. It’s no surprise you’d make excuses for her. Or that you’d show up here days late.”
Guilt over her past behavior heated her chest, neck and cheeks, yet chilled her at the same time. She hugged her middle. Only Matt had understood that her rebellion had been a cry for her parents’ attention, but they’d been too busy saving the world to help one confused teenager. Rachel would have given anything to have them pay half as much attention to her as they had to strangers. Instead, they’d dumped her on her older sister. But Hope had been no substitute for her mother or her father.
Rachel squashed the memories. “I was in a flood-ravaged village in a third world country with minimal communication and access to the outside. I didn’t get the message about Hope until six days after her...passing. I came as soon as I could.”
She didn’t bother telling him that she’d had to wait for a rare supply flight because the countryside surrounding them had been controlled by rebels, and crossing by land was too dangerous. He wouldn’t want to hear it. Wouldn’t care.
Matt folded his arms across his impressive chest and narrowed his eyes. “Really.”
His skepticism sobered her. Matt had known her when deceiving people had been her MO.
“I was working, Matt.” She hated defending herself. There hadn’t been a need to do so since she’d left this narrow-minded town. Her dedication and the quality of her work spoke for itself. “I faxed Hope’s lawyer my power of attorney, so she wouldn’t have to lie in the morgue until I could get here.”
She’d seen too many morgues. The idea of her sister lying in one had been unbearable.
Matt’s expression hardened. “How considerate of you. Chastity needed you sooner. She’s struggling and afraid.”
That made two of them. “I’m here for her now. I’ll take her back home with me, and we’ll...we’ll get through this together.”
She had no idea how she’d fit a teenager into her life. She always threw herself into her work, exhausting herself each day so she could sleep at night. Suppressing one’s needs was a common fault in her profession, and she was as guilty of it as most. Maybe more so since she had a past she wished she could forget.
A gaggle of chattering cheerleaders rounded the corner. They snapped to attention when they spotted Matt, then eyed him as they sashayed past, but he seemed blind to their flirtatious smiles.
Rachel watched them, her heart heavy with the unjustness of life. That old song was right. The good were the only ones who died young. When Rachel had irritated her parents to the point they could barely stand the sight of her, Hope had generously offered Rachel a home so she could attend normal American school for her senior year. Rachel had jumped at the chance to escape the vagabond life of near poverty in which she’d lived in the mission villages. Hope had bailed Rachel out of countless disasters, culminating in relocating to anonymous Atlanta to help Rachel hide the shameful consequences of a teenage pregnancy. Hope had taken her kindness even further by adopting Rachel’s daughter when Rachel had voiced her fears of relinquishing her baby girl to strangers.
