Twice the Chance. Darlene Gardner

on>

      

      “That settles it.

       You have to go out with me.”

      Matt’s gaze was unwavering. “Because we’d be good for each other. And because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

      With the pool lights shining down on him, Matt looked as golden as when Jazz had first seen him bathed in sunlight at the park. Now that she’d gotten to know and like him, he was even more handsome. Her heart hammered. “I wish you would.”

      “Don’t you think about me?”

      “No,” she said instantly.

      “Now why do I think you’re not telling the truth?” he asked softly.

      It made not one whit of difference if she found him appealing. She needed to operate on the assumption that the twins were the children she’d given up. Honestly, she’d be a lot less likely to run into them if she didn’t hang around their uncle.

      Honestly, as far as Matt was concerned, she didn’t think she could stay away.

      Dear Reader,

      My mother thought she was carrying twins until the moment I was born. “I hear two heartbeats,” the doctor had told her. Instead, she got one big baby.

      Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to stories about twins and why the idea for Twice the Chance came to me fully formed. It’s about a woman who stumbles across a girl and boy with unusually colored hair whom she thinks may be the twins she gave up for adoption.

      The story, however, has a twist. Jazz Lenox doesn’t want anyone, especially Matt Caminetti, the man with whom she’s falling in love, to know about her suspicions. That’s because she has another secret of her own….

      Until next time,

      Darlene Gardner

      P.S. Visit me on the web at www.darlenegardner.com.

      Twice the Chance

      Darlene Gardner

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      While working as a newspaper sportswriter, Darlene Gardner realized she’d rather make up quotes than rely on an athlete to say something interesting. So she quit her job and concentrated on a fiction career that landed her at Harlequin/Silhouette Books, where she wrote for the Temptation, Duets and Intimate Moments lines before finding a home at Superromance. Please visit Darlene on the web at www.darlenegardner.com.

      To adoptive mothers

       who love their children—and the birth mothers

       who gave them the chance.

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE SOUTH CAROLINA sun bathed the young girl in light, bringing out the unusual color of the long silky hair she wore in a ponytail.

      Jazz Lenox forgot about the stitch in her side, the need to watch the packed earth for rocks and exposed roots, and her determination to run two circuits around the trail circling Ashley Greens Park in less than thirty minutes.

      The girl was about seven or eight years old and wore black shorts, high blue socks and a bright blue shirt shot through with yellow lightning bolts. She was beneath the crossbar of a soccer net with her back to Jazz, on the balls of her feet, her weight slightly forward. Her ponytail swished back and forth as she moved to catch a ball careening toward her.

      Her dark red ponytail.

      The shade was unusual but not unique. In the three years since Jazz had moved into her one-bedroom apartment in South Carolina, a few miles outside of Charleston, she’d spotted the hair color a dozen times on people of various ages. A middle-aged man. A teenage boy. A toddler girl.

      This Sunday morning was the first time Jazz had stumbled across a redhead who appeared to be the right age. Jazz realized, of course, that she could be overreacting. Maybe this child hadn’t even been a redhead at birth. It could be a coincidence that the girl’s particular shade matched not only the wispy tufts that had been on the newborn, but also Jazz’s grandmother’s hair.

      “Good job! You made the stop!” A man’s deep voice cut through the warm August air.

      The path of the trail brought Jazz even with the net, which was about thirty feet away. Off to one side of the girl stood a tall man with golden-brown hair wearing a T-shirt and athletic shorts. Probably the girl’s father. He clapped his hands.

      “Be warned, Robbie,” he cried. “The girl in goal is a beast!”

      “Boys are beasts, not girls!” The girl was dancing in place, making it appear as though the lightning bolts on her shirt were poised to strike.

      “Give me the ball, Brooke.” The third voice belonged to a young boy. “I’m scoring on you this time!”

      Jazz had been so focused on the girl, she hadn’t noticed the boy. Jazz kept running, putting one foot in front of the other by rote, craning her neck as her progress took her past where the boy stood.

      He was about the same age as the girl with the exact shade of dark red hair.

      The toe of Jazz’s running shoe caught on something, and she pitched forward. She reached out her arms to break her fall and slammed down hard on her right side. The breath squeezed out of her and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She sucked at the air, finally feeling it reach her lungs.

      Pain seared her shoulder and the forearm that had taken the brunt of the fall. It was of little consequence. What mattered were the redheaded boy and girl. Were they the twins she sometimes found herself searching for no matter how determined she was to remain out of their lives?

      She’d gotten such a brief look at the boy, she could have been mistaken about how old he was. Even if he were roughly the same size as the girl, that didn’t mean they were twins.

      The ground in front of her yielded no answers.

      Praying the children and the man hadn’t seen her fall, she got to her feet gingerly. The trio on the soccer field was laughing about something, immersed in their own little world that didn’t include Jazz. The man was now standing in goal beside the boy, who gripped the soccer ball with both hands.

      Drawing in a deep breath, Jazz wiped at the dirt on her scraped arm and brushed at the twigs and grass on her running clothes. Thankfully nobody had seen her fall. As it got later in the morning and the August temperatures rose, the trail became less populated.

      “Go deep, Robbie!” the man yelled, waving his arm to indicate a point roughly even with Jazz. “Brooke’s got a good punt.”

      The man bent his head to say something to the girl, probably instructions. He watched as the girl took three long steps, dropped the ball and punted.

      The black-and-white ball arced into the