Second Chance Mom. Emilie Rose

       Extract

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      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’