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Rachel laughed. “I used to say those same words. She brought dinner.”
“Nah, she was checking up on us. Dinner is an excuse. What is it?” She peered under the foil. “Mmm, her chicken casserole. The old bat makes the best chicken casserole on the planet...even if she does make a career out of spying on me and making my life miserable.”
Grabbing the dish, Chastity headed for the kitchen. Rachel followed with the salad. A smile tugged her lips at yet another familiar refrain. She’d hated the neighbors who seemed determined to mind her business and offer unsolicited advice. It seemed she and her daughter had more in common than genetics. Rachel shoved the bowl into the empty and sparkling clean refrigerator.
“You can sleep in the guest room. I’ll help you unpack.” Chastity reached for the duffel bag Rachel had dropped on the floor.
“Thanks, but I’ll do it. I need to do my dirty laundry anyway.”
“This bag feels empty. Where’s the rest of your stuff?”
“I left most of it with the village women.”
“Why?”
How could she explain the horror of watching children sift through the dump for clothing, food and supplies? “Because they don’t have much, and there are no Walmart stores over there.”
A moment of silence passed. “I guess you could borrow some of Mom’s clothes. You’re taller, but otherwise about the same size.”
Stepping into her sister’s shoes or clothing wasn’t something she’d wanted to do if she could avoid it. “I’ll wash what I have.”
The phone rang, and Chastity bolted to answer it. While she chatted, Rachel headed to the laundry room. She dumped her soiled clothes in the washer and turned it on. While the tub filled, she opened the cabinet where Hope had kept the detergent. The box was empty. She searched every other cabinet and realized they were out. She turned off the machine, but it was too late. Her clothes were saturated.
Carrying her bag she headed toward her old room. The first room she passed was Chastity’s. It was decorated in ballerina pink with matching quilts on the twin beds and airy tulle bed skirts. It was every bit as adorable as the pictures Hope had sent.
Hope’s room was next. Her sister had redecorated the space in creamy white since Rachel’s time here. A pure room for the pure sister? Hope had been the unreachable ideal that Rachel’s parents had expected her to model. But now Hope was gone. Loss swelled in Rachel’s chest and tightened her throat. She swallowed, trying to ease the grip of grief. She and her sister had never been close. Even without their personality differences, the ten-year age gap had been too wide to bridge—and now it never would be.
And then an insidious, sickening thought slithered through her. Had Hope shared that bed with Matt? Had she been trying to give Chastity the father she deserved? The one to which she was entitled? Hope had always believed in family sticking together.
Rachel’s trapezius muscles knotted. Rolling her shoulders to ease the tension, she continued toward her old room. The same floorboards creaked, but then she stopped in surprise on the threshold. Other than the furniture and the picture of her parents that she’d taken with her old camera, all traces of her stay here had been erased. The soothing sky-blue curtains, bedding and painted walls had been changed to deep plum with touches of lavender and lime.
This room had been her prison and simultaneously her sanctuary from the town in which she did not fit. She forced her feet forward and dropped her bag on the bed.
“What’re you doing in my room?”
Rachel jerked around. “This used to be my room.”
“It’s mine now.” Defensive. Territorial. “The guest room is that sissy pink one down the hall.”
Only then did Rachel notice the nail polish and makeup in a plastic bin on the dresser. “Gotcha.”
She backtracked to the ballerina bedroom, but she couldn’t help wondering if her things were gone because her sister had redecorated the room for Chastity or was it something more? Had Hope been trying to eradicate Rachel from Chastity’s life? She’d stopped Rachel’s visits five years ago, reducing contact to emails and brief phone calls.
How badly had her sister wanted her gone?
* * *
MATT TOLD HIMSELF he was simply taking a shortcut home from the Cub Scout meeting. But he knew differently.
It was late. His knee ached. He should be in bed getting much-needed sleep. Why was he making an unscheduled detour by Hope’s house? Because Rachel had looked ready to bolt earlier today. He wanted to see if she’d packed up her niece and taken off. Would she selfishly put her wants above Chastity’s?
Turning onto Hope’s street, he slowed his pickup. He was surprised to see a car in the driveway, even more surprised to see a lamp burning in the den. A shadow crossed in front of the window. He braked involuntarily. Rachel’s? Had to be.
There wasn’t anything to do in Johnstonville after ten, and Hope had refused to install cable TV. What was Rachel doing up at this time of night? Packing to hit the road at dawn?
The only reason he was out this late was because he’d had to clean up the volcano experiment he and the boys hadn’t quite pulled off as planned at the meeting. His mind had been on other things, and he’d measured incorrectly. The volcano had erupted with too much enthusiasm, spreading its fake lava all over the church basement. He’d sent the dripping kids and their fathers home and gotten out the mop. His mistake. His duty to clean it up.
Against his better judgment, he turned into Hope’s driveway. His headlights passed across the front of the house. A moment later Rachel’s face appeared in the window. Too late to wise up and go home now. He cut the engine. When he climbed out of his truck, she dropped the curtain. He tapped quietly on the door and waited. Silent seconds passed. Did she plan to ignore him? He was about to knock again when the porch light came on. His mouth dried. The door eased open a crack.
Her chocolate-brown eyes looked red-rimmed in the light, but Rachel had always been too tough to cry. Tangled dark hair tumbled over her shoulders. He couldn’t halt the memory of how it had felt when she’d dragged it across his chest and stomach when they’d made love. Not a thought he needed right now.
“What do you want, Matt?”
Her lack of welcome quenched the flickering ember of desire. “I saw your light. Is everything okay?”
She lowered her lids and rubbed her temple. She looked fragile. Fragile? Rachel? Impossible. Rachel was cast-iron tough. Hell on wheels. But the shadows beneath her eyes and hollows in her cheeks were impossible to miss.
“Jet lag. Can’t sleep.”
“May I come in?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure you want to do that? By breakfast it’ll be all over town that you were with Rachel the Rebel at midnight.”
She was right, but he was a big boy now. And apparently not a smart one. “I’ll risk it.”
She stepped back, putting a finger to her lips, and the memory of her doing the same when they’d snuck out of this same house over a decade ago tackled him.
“Chastity’s asleep.”
Her whisper brought back a flood of emotions he didn’t need. Following her inside, he rubbed the back of his neck. It felt strange to be in Hope’s house without Hope. Stranger still to be here with Rachel. She wore the same clothes as earlier, only she’d untucked her baggy shirt. His mind immediately went to the last time they’d been alone together in the dark. Naked. Only then, he’d been the one to mess up her hair. God, he’d loved tangling his fingers in the silky strands and holding her close. Involuntarily, desire rekindled. He tried to snuff it out and failed miserably.
Focus. “Have you decided to let Chastity finish out the school year here?”
Rachel’s brow dipped, and she shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Bad decision.” He didn’t want her to go. For Chastity’s sake.
“Excuse me?”
Matt moved carefully as he approached her. The last thing he wanted was for his knee to buckle and dump him on the floor at her feet. All the kneeling from mopping and cleaning had strained the muscles. He needed his brace, but it was at home. Where he should be.
“Chastity doesn’t need another change right now. She’ll graduate from middle school in a few weeks and would be transitioning to high school for fall. Summer is the logical time to move her.”
Rachel jammed her fingers into her hair and paced toward the sofa. “I understand what you’re saying, Matt. I even agree with you to a point, but my job is very important to me. It would be difficult to get more time off.”
“Try. For Chastity’s sake.”
She faced him, looking torn, exhausted and a little...scared? His protective instincts kicked in, but he dismissed them.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
The fact that they continued to whisper like kids sneaking around only increased the southerly direction of his blood flow. Damn it, he was getting a boner. It irritated him that she still got to him.
“I’m asking you to put someone else’s needs ahead of your own for once.”
He couldn’t decipher the look she gave him, but tangled in all the other emotions chasing across her face, he thought he caught a flash of pain.
“Fine. I’ll call my supervisor in the morning and see if she can spare me a little longer. But don’t get your hopes up.”
“Good.” He searched her face. This wasn’t the sassy Rachel he remembered. This version looked as if she needed a hug. But he flattened the impulse to deliver one. He knew better. He came from a family of huggers, but holding Rachel definitely wouldn’t be like comforting his sister. Rachel was the only woman who’d ever made him lose control, and that wasn’t a trail he wanted to travel again. His relationship with her and her subsequent rejection had taken him to a moral low that he couldn’t forget.
They stared at each other, the silence stretching awkwardly. Questions charged through his head like the punt return team. A part of him wanted to ask why she’d dumped him, to hear the reasons from her lips instead of conjecture from townsfolk or Hope’s account. But Rachel’s reasons didn’t matter—water under the bridge and all that.
She’d left him when he’d been at the top of his game—so she definitely wouldn’t want anything to do with him now that his glory days were over. And he was okay with that. He’d come to terms with disappointing his dad and the citizens of Johnstonville. He’d rebuilt his life and made it a decent one. He loved his job.
She licked her lips, folded her arms across her chest and shifted on her feet. How did she manage to look vulnerable when he knew she was anything but?
Despite his attempt to reason with himself, the old attraction pulled at him. He wanted to kiss her—but only to see if she still packed the same punch or if his inexperience had been what made their chemistry so explosive. He was pretty sure it was the latter—no woman since Rachel had affected him as strongly. And there’d been a few too many—all in an effort to exorcise her memory. Those meaningless encounters had gone against every principle his parents had taught him, and he wasn’t proud of his behavior.
But one experimental kiss would answer so many questions. Did she taste the same? Feel the same? She’d always had the softest skin. All over. But especially her breasts. His heart slammed his rib cage as he erased the gap between them and lifted a hand to trace her cheekbone.
Rachel’s eyes went wide. Her breath hitched, and she abruptly dodged sideways. “Matt, go home.”
He should. But he didn’t want to and couldn’t pry his gaze from her flushed face and wide pupils. His lungs filled with her scent, something earthier and more exotic than he remembered.
“Please. Leave.” Her soft, breathless voice said one thing, but the way she visually gobbled him up said something else entirely. Her head-to-toe examination halted at his mouth. Her lips parted, and hunger gripped him anew. He leaned closer. A second before their lips would have touched she ducked and spun away, this time putting the coffee table between them.
Her mixed signals confused him.
Her breasts rose and fell. “There won’t be any of that this time. So if that’s why you’re trying to get me to stay—”
“It’s not.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and struggled with his misplaced disappointment. What in the hell had he been thinking? Rachel was right. Getting entangled again was a bad idea. She was counting the seconds until she could leave town, and he had a duty to Johnstonville.
“I’m sorry about Hope.” The words sounded empty, but he needed a minute to regroup after that kind of fumble.
“I’ll bet you are,” she snapped, then faced him, looking contrite. “I apologize. That was uncalled-for.”
She straightened a picture frame on the side table. It was one of him, Chastity and Hope taken at a Memorial Day picnic about eleven years back. He’d been home visiting his folks and had run into Hope. He’d asked her about Rachel, and he’d learned more than he ever wanted to about how easily she’d forgotten him.
“Chastity told me you and Hope were engaged.”
Matt startled in surprise. “Where’d she get that idea?”
“She overheard you talking.”
“We discussed marriage.” Twice. They were both lonely, and neither of them was getting any younger. They’d shared the same values, the same love of their quiet little town, attended the same church, and each of them wanted a large family. And time for that was passing them by. “We decided against it.”
Hope had known about his past and hadn’t minded that his future wasn’t as bright as it once had been. Coach of the Year was probably the best he’d ever be. A marriage between them had seemed like a good match on paper, but talking about it was as far as they’d gotten. They hadn’t even told anyone they were considering it. Part of it was that he’d wanted the fireworks he’d experienced with Rachel, and the few times he and Hope had kissed, they hadn’t generated any. Then Hope had died. He was sorry. But he was also a little relieved that he wouldn’t have to disappoint her.
Rachel’s expectant expression demanded more of an explanation. “Turning forty hit her hard. She thought she was...missing out on life.”
Rachel nodded. “Hope is—was—the kind of woman you deserve.”
Before he could respond Chastity shuffled into the room. “Hey, Coach. What’re you doing here?”
Good thing she hadn’t walked in a minute earlier. “I was on my way home and saw the light on. I stopped by to see if everything was okay.”
He looked at Hope’s daughter, noting that she actually looked like a girl her age should for a change. No war paint, no spandex, no surly attitude. If she’d dress like this for school, she might have more friends than just his niece.
Chastity glanced from one of them to the other, as if gauging the truth. “I’m thirsty.”
Rachel reached out to tuck a strand of Chastity’s dark rumpled hair behind her ear, and for a moment Chastity leaned into the embrace and rested her forehead against Rachel’s. The strands of their hair mingled, and it struck Matt how much they resembled each other.
He glanced at the photo of the Bishop family. Hope had always attributed Chastity’s coloring to the dominant genes from her father and grandfather’s side of the family. Hope had been fair, blonde and petite like her mother.
When Chastity twisted away, Matt thought he saw regret flash across Rachel’s face. “It’ll have to be water, kiddo. Our cupboards are bare. And we used the last tea bags with dinner. I’ll go to the store in the morning.”
Chastity’s expression turned sour. “Dogs drink water.”
She flounced off toward her room. Matt heard Rachel sigh and felt the need to make her feel better. “She’s been giving Hope a hard time for the past year or so,” he explained. “Hope blamed it on puberty. The bad behavior has escalated since Hope’s death.”
Rachel frowned up at him. “Did Hope spend a lot of time with her?”
“Hope spent all her time with Chastity when she wasn’t working or at a church function.”
“And there are always a lot of those.” Bitterness tainted her voice.
He had a sneaking suspicion where this was going. Rachel’s parents had devoted the majority of their time to their missions and little to their daughters. Hope hadn’t minded. She’d eagerly joined in her parents’ cause until she’d gone to college to get her accounting degree. Rachel had been a different story. She’d insisted the lands her parents visited didn’t need good ol’ American religion when they’d been getting by for hundreds of years with the native variety.
“Hope was a great mom, Rachel. Ask anyone.”
Rachel glanced at the photo, her expression sad. “I’m sure she was. She excelled at everything she did.”
That didn’t sound like a compliment. “Rachel—”
“Matt, it’s late and I want to go to bed.”
His lower unit throbbed at the image of Rachel in bed. A bed was one place they’d never been together. He inhaled, but it was shaky.
Cheeks flushed, she crossed to the front door and opened it. “I appreciate your concern, but we’re fine. Or will be after I make a grocery run.”
He wrote his name and cellular number on the pad beside the phone. “Call me if you need anything. Good night.”
It was a neighborly gesture, one he’d make to anyone, he told himself as he heard the lock click behind him. The past was over. And no amount of wishing things had been different would change their situation. He was okay with that.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1aa82978-a69a-596a-b234-3f452c3b509d)
A PEPPERING OF knocks roused Rachel from a dead sleep.
