Second Chance Mom. Emilie Rose

like a defensive linebacker. He’d been raised by parents who lived by structure, rules and a very strict moral code. His dedication to sports and learning had only reinforced his disciplined attitude. He’d had no idea how to handle her. But he’d tried.

      To Rachel, rules had been hurdles to circumvent. She’d find ten different ways to do the same old thing while he’d chosen proved methods. Her adventurous nature had captured his attention, but what had sucked him under like swirling white water had been the vulnerability she’d fought so hard to hide. He’d tried to save her from herself and ended up losing—a lot.

      From the moment she’d kissed him under the mistletoe at a church party during Christmas break his junior year of college—a hot openmouthed kiss in the fellowship hall of all places—he’d been hooked on her brand of excitement. He’d held on for the ride of his life and loved every minute of it.

      Her disappearance without explanation and her refusal to answer his letters had stunned, hurt and confused him, as if he’d hit a submerged river boulder when he’d thought the stream clear and deep. Until Hope had enlightened him years later, he’d wondered what he’d done to drive Rachel away. Hope had told him that Rachel had been bored in Johnstonville, and he’d been a diversion, nothing more.

      A pencil dropped, forcing his focus back to the students shifting restlessly in their seats while they wrote, but it didn’t stay there long. This mature Rachel, with squared shoulders and deliberate movements, spoke of a confidence she hadn’t possessed as a teen. Her looser clothes flowed over her body in a way that hinted at the womanly shape they concealed. He found her natural beauty ten times more attractive than the attention-grabbing outfits that had once done a number on his hormones. Back then she’d been testing her womanly wiles, and he’d felt like a sixteen-year-old with a Ferrari. But he was older and wiser now. There would be no rekindling of his romance with Rachel. The fact that she was a flight nurse revealed she was still an adrenaline junkie. She’d just found a profitable way to exploit her need for thrills.

      Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. He was losing his mind. He’d been born in Johnstonville and intended to die here. He had a long-standing family legacy of community service to fulfill—one he could not blow for a woman. He had the house with the white picket fence and a dog. All he needed to make his life perfect was a nice, churchgoing wife who could accept him as he was and give him children.

      The woman who’d blown into his life like a hurricane was not a likely candidate. Life with Rachel would never be predictable or uncomplicated. Life with her sister, Hope, on the other hand, might have been.

       CHAPTER TWO

      RACHEL FELT AT least three sets of curious eyes watching her from the school office window as she put the car in gear. The sensation resembled a spider climbing her spine. She could almost hear the condemning whispers.

      She’s a bad seed, that one.

      How could someone like Hope be related to someone like her?

      Her dear parents must have been so ashamed.

      “Cool. A Mustang.” Chastity pushed knobs and twisted buttons. The radio blasted loud enough to rattle Rachel’s teeth. “I love red cars,” the teen shouted over the noise.

      Rachel lowered the volume, earning a pout from Chastity. “Don’t get excited. It’s a rental.”

      “What do you usually drive?”

      “I don’t own a car, so I take public transit. I ride the MARTA or the bus.”

      “The bus? You ride a stinking bus?”

      “Public transportation is very good in Atlanta.” And a car in her neighborhood might get stripped or stolen.

      “You’ll need a car here, and Mom’s...” Chastity’s hair flew as she quickly averted her face to stare out the window, blinking fast. “It’s toast.”

      The broken words squeezed Rachel’s heart. Hope’s car had been totaled, the police officer had said. He’d offered to text pictures, but Rachel had declined.

      “I have this one for now.”

      “So we’ll shop for one? A red one?”

      Rachel’s heart sank. “Probably not, sweetie.”

      “But how will we get around?” Worry tightened Chastity’s features.

      “We’ll use the bus and MARTA.”

      “You’re going back to Atlanta? But...where will I live?”

      Rachel reached across the console and covered a knotted fist. “You’ll live with me.”

      “Your apartment only has one bedroom, and your neighborhood stinks. Mom said it wasn’t even safe for us to visit.” Chastity pulled away to dig a lipstick out of her pocket. She flipped down the visor mirror and slathered on a bold red color that would look good on her in about twenty years.

      “We’ll find a bigger place near good schools. Maybe even a house with a yard big enough to have a garden.”

      “Mom has—had a garden.”

      “I know.”

      “I hated working in it. Bugs. Sweat. Weeds.”

      Rachel didn’t point out that Chastity had often bragged in her emails about her section of the garden. “Okay. No garden. But I’ve never found tomatoes as good as your mom’s anywhere in the world. I was hoping you’d tell me her secret.”

      Silence reigned, then Chastity blurted, “I don’t want to move.”

      Rachel’s heart clenched with empathy. How many times had she said that? “Change is difficult, but together we’ll find the perfect place.”

      “My friends are here.”

      “I know. But you’ll make new friends, and we’ll visit your old ones.” Maybe. That would be risky.

      “Does Atlanta have good shopping?”

      “Second only to New York.”

      “Good, ’cause you need an intervention. You’re a fashion ‘don’t.’”

      Ouch. “I’m dressed for the heat and the ethics where I was working—and for traveling.”

      “Yeah, well...you look like a bag lady.”

      “Thanks, so much. I love you, too, kid.”

      “Will I get to buy cool clothes?”

      “Sure.”

      “You’ll let me pick out the house?”

      “I’ll let you help.”

      For nearly a mile, silence echoed in the car. “Could I be called Chaz there instead of Chastity? I catch a lot of grief over my name. Mom might as well have named me Perpetual Virgin or something equally lame.”

      “You can be Chaz if you want. Or even Faith.”

      “God, no. My middle name’s as bad as my first. Chastity Faith. I mean, seriously, who does that to a kid?”

      “Faith is my middle name.”

      “And you don’t use it, either. Can I get a dog? Mom always said no, but pets are important for teaching responsibility.”

      Rachel laughed. The kid was playing all the cards. “We’ll discuss it when we figure out where we’ll live.”

      “Moving might be okay. I’ll think about it.”

      Chastity didn’t have a choice, but Rachel didn’t push the point as she turned into Hope’s neighborhood.

      Chastity stroked the dashboard. “Can I drive the rest of the way home?”

      Rachel did