Second Chance Mom. Emilie Rose

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

      A PEPPERING OF knocks roused Rachel from a dead sleep.

      “Breakfast! Come and get it,” Chastity called through the closed bedroom door.

      Groggily, Rachel shoved her hair off her face. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, finally crashing around three in the morning. Matt’s visit had rattled her. She’d been pretty sure he’d intended to kiss her. And that could not happen.

      She dragged herself from the bed and shuffled toward the kitchen. She’d kiss a frog for a cup of coffee right now. But Matt, not a frog, stood in the den holding a paper bag and a tray containing four tall cups