Copyright 2020

Mary Manners

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Cover Art by Delia Latham/Heaven’s Touch Designs

This book is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

 

Warning: No part of this book may be copied, scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means without the express, written permission of the author. Unauthorized duplication and/or distribution is illegal. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

 

Published by Sweet Dreams Publications

First Edition, 2020

Published in the United States of America

 

Contact information:

Mary Manners: sunriserun63@aol.com

 

Scripture taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® NIV®

Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by International Bible Society®. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

 

 

 

~ Dedication ~

 

To the Griffin family:

Dave, Lisa, Allie, Lily and Aaron...wishing each of you a lifetime of blessings.

I hope you will enjoy all the books that currently form The Potter’s House series. These special stories are linked by the theme of Hope, Redemption, and Second Chances. They are all stand-alone books and can be read in any order. Find all of The Potter’s House Books here.

 

Book 1: The Hope We Share, by Juliette Duncan

Book 2: Beyond the Deep, by Kristen M. Fraser

Book 3: Honor’s Reward, by Mary Manners

Book 4: Hands of Grace, by Brenda S. Anderson

Book 5: Always You, by Jennifer Rodewald (Coming March 3)

Book 6: Her Cowboy Forever, by Dora Hiers Coming March 17)

Book 7: Changed Somehow, by Chloe Flanagan (Coming March 31)

Book 8: Sweet Scent of Forgiveness, by Delia Latham (Coming April 14)

Book 9 - 24: Coming Soon!

Dear Reader

 

Nobody is perfect. We all make mistakes, but God loves us anyway, even with all of our imperfections. He teaches us to be strong and courageous, not fearful or worrisome, and to turn to him with each and every desire of our heart.

This is the lesson Matt and Laila learn in Honor’s Reward. It’s a lesson I also continue to grapple with as the ebb and flow of life washes over me. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that it’s okay to be imperfect as long as I’m learning from those mistakes, and that worry and fear are a waste of precious time, a thief of joy.

When the storms of life rush in and you begin to doubt your worth, hold tight to God’s promise. He will be with you wherever you go, through whatever may come your way.

Stay hopeful, seek Him, and listen to his voice.

Peace to you,

Mary

 

~ Key Verse ~

 

“Serve him with wholehearted devotion and with a willing mind, for the Lord searches every heart and understands every motive behind the thoughts. If you seek Him, He will be found by you.”

~ 1 Chronicles 28:9 ~

Blessings await as the winds of change whisper…

On ice, Matthew Bennett enjoys the limelight as star center of the Chicago Blackhawks. But off-ice, a string of reckless relationships has resulted in an allegation that he's fathered a child. As Matt’s conscience is tossed into a firestorm, his wayward nephew, Grayson, stumbles to his doorstep in dire need of help.

 

Laila Peterson carries a heavy secret. Pregnant at a young age, she relinquished all rights to her daughter with hopes the child might have a better life. As her wounded heart heals, Laila opens Second Chances Day School and vows to mentor teens in need. But, when Matt's troubled nephew enrolls at Second Chances, Laila is faced with a big challenge in the form of a hockey player with a bad reputation and loads of boyish charm.

 

Can the two overcome mistakes of the past and find a happy forever…together?

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

“I NEED TO KNOW NOW.” Matthew Bennett shoved papers aside and tapped a pen over the polished glass top of a chrome coffee table that flanked his leather couch. He barked orders into the cell phone, “Right now—today.”

“I’m sorry.” The receptionist’s matter-of-fact tone was punctuated with a hint of weary frustration. “But the results of your paternity test haven’t posted yet.”

“That’s impossible. What’s the holdup?” The words lashed. “I’ll be too old and feeble to collect Social Security by the time your lab analyzes a tiny blood sample. Those results have to be floating around somewhere in your computer network or in one of your archaic charts. If the lab report gets into the wrong hands, the press is sure to have a field day with it.”

“That won’t happen. We’re highly professional here. I assure you, Mr. Bennett—”

“I don’t want your assurances.” Matt clenched the barrel of the pen and broke it in two with a single, swift crack. “I want the results—now.”

“Sir, I’m trying to tell you—”

“Then tell me what I want to hear.” Matt punctuated his words by launching the pen at the table. Broken shards of plastic scattered across glass and danced over the polished hardwood floor, disappearing beneath a black leather couch. “Just check once more. Please.”

“Once more…for the fourth time today…” The receptionist drew a long sigh and released her breath in an exaggerated huff of air that had the phone line trembling. “And it’s not even noon yet. But if you insist.”

“I do.” Matt’s nerves sizzled and popped as his patience snapped. “Yes, I most certainly do.”

“In that case…” Sketchy piano music drifted over the line as Matt was placed on hold once again. He kicked the couch leg and then paced a tight holding pattern along the oak planks beneath his feet. Unruly black hair fell across his eyes and he ran a hand through it, feeling a rough ridge of scar buried along his hairline, the result of a battle wound from a Stanley Cup playoff bid two seasons ago.

That had been the high point of his career—leading his team to the coveted Cup. With that victory tucked neatly into his back pocket, product endorsements and appearance requests poured down like cool summer rain. Soon, Matt found himself worked into a state of exhaustion in an attempt to fulfill them all, before his agent finally began to turn away all but the most lucrative prospects. Perhaps some time down the road, when things quieted down a bit, he’d manage a fly-by to some of the elementary schools and hospitals that had been left-behind.

At the moment, he was still recovering from the commercial fallout. His notoriety hardly allowed him to venture from the apartment without being accosted by at least a fan or two wanting to share their opinion on the outcome of a game, or working to snag an autograph. Even a trip to a local fast food drive-thru was iffy. Of course, he never turned down a kid when it came to signing his name or posing for a photo, but the armchair quarterbacks really shredded his nerves.

He supposed he should be thankful anyone even cared. For as high as the former Stanley Cup season had ended, this year had proven to be the valley of all valleys. Matt still couldn’t make sense of it…his career plummeting from the very peak of the summit to the depths of the ocean quicker than a lead balloon. And now rumors swirled about his advancing age, and the growing assumption that the best days of his career in the NHL were behind him. He was due for a contract renewal, and things didn’t look all that promising. Matt saw the writing on the wall, and he didn’t like the message.

That last concussion hadn’t helped much. The blow had benched him for a good part of the season and left his brain scrambled for weeks. Coach worried one more hit like that might leave him completely out of his head, hence the hold-up in his contract. Go figure…washed up at the ripe old age of thirty-six. Break out the rocking chairs and prune juice; it was a good bet he’d just skated his final pro season. Where he’d go from here, he had no idea.

The thought coiled like a snake in Matt’s gut as elevator music continued to drift over the line. Seconds segued into minutes while one sleep-inducing song melded to another and worst-case-scenario thoughts slithered through his mind. In his wildest dreams, he never imagined he’d encounter a situation more disastrous than a career-ending injury. Yet, he was smack-dab in the middle of a quagmire. Worse than that, the current phone call carried a sense of foreboding more ominous than an impending tornado. Each breath became more difficult as the levity of the circumstances dawned.

I might be a father.

The very thought struck Matt with pulse-jamming dread. A child was the last thing on his agenda, even farther down the list than retirement and marriage and neat-in-a-row white picket fences. But Shayla had shown up on his doorstep two weeks ago sporting photos of a baby. She—and her slime-bucket of a lawyer—had insisted he was responsible for the sudden tangled fork in her road, swaddled in a neat little package of disposable diapers and receiving blankets.

Good grief, Matt didn’t even like Shayla, with her sun-streaked blonde hair and skirts that clung like plastic wrap to a figure way too beguiling for his own good. He hadn’t seen or heard from her in months, and now he racked his brain to remember the details of their infamous…um…encounter. Was it before or after Margo? In Detroit or Montreal? The fact that he couldn’t place the exact time and date, or even the location, unsettled Matt.

He shrugged the tension from his shoulders and thought of the string of women who waited at every venue, like flies drawn to sugarcane. How was he supposed to resist them all when they so willingly threw themselves at him? Anyway, wasn’t the attention of beautiful women a perk of his tenure as a top-ranked athlete?

Truth was, he’d sampled one woman too many, and now his escapades had come back to bite him. The thought caused a stab of embarrassment and something else—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, yet the unsettling feeling nibbled at his conscience like a swarm of ravenous termites.

Matt rolled the tension from his shoulders as he gazed through an expanse of floor-to-ceiling palladium windows that overlooked the Tennessee riverfront near downtown Knoxville. People scurried along the river walk on foot and by bike while others coasted the cerulean-blue water in ski boats and an occasional canoe or paddleboat. The Star of Knoxville riverboat rested in port, waiting for its evening dinner cruise while the mouthwatering aroma of barbecued ribs drifted from Calhoun’s Restaurant on the River. Matt leaned against the glass and remembered that he was still on hold—again—and waiting on information that might very well change the course of his life forever.

Am I a father? Is the baby mine?

A groan rumbled up. How could the world continue to spin on its axis when his future hung in the balance by a single, fraying thread?

I swear I’ll do anything You ask, God, if you just let this paternity test come back negative.

Good grief, where had that thought come from? Matt hadn’t prayed in years, hadn’t so much as given God a passing thought in at least a decade…maybe more. And now he was bartering with the Man Upstairs? His brain really was scrambled.

Music faded as the receptionist finally returned to the line.

“Mr. Bennett? Are you still there?” Her voice rang breathless, as if she’d run to and from the lab herself.

“Of course I’m still here and, like a said before, a giant leap closer to claiming Social Security benefits.” Matt clutched the phone so hard the case might have cracked beneath the pressure of his callused hands. “Where else would I be?”

“I’m sorry for the wait, but—”

“Save the apology. Do you have the results or not?”

“I do, right here in my hands.”

“Well…?” The single word barely came as his throat filled with sandpaper. “What’s the verdict?”

“Let me see here. Just one moment. Yes, here it is…”

An army of ants marched up Matt’s spine as his hands turned clammy and his pulse launched into warp speed.

“Well, Mr. Bennett…” Her chair squeaked as office phones rang in the distance. “Yes, the paternity test returned negative. Not even a remote match.”

The breath whooshed out of Matt. He turned and pressed his forehead to the cool balcony-door glass as beads of sweat broke out along the nape of his neck. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. That is, the results are negative. Would you like me to page Dr. Rafferty to confirm?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” His trembling hands struggled to keep hold of the phone. “Just keep those results clear of the press, and forward them to my attorney ASAP.”

“Will do, Mr. Bennett.” Papers rustled through the phone line, followed by the staccato tap, tap, tap of a keyboard. “I’m taking care of it as we speak. Rest assured that the results will be communicated immediately, and with the utmost confidentiality.”

“Thank you.”

“You are most certainly welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I believe you’ve done more than enough.”

“In that case, and until next time, have a nice day.”

Until next time? Over his dead body would there be a next time. Matt disconnected the call with a jab of the power button and slipped the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. From this point on, he was swearing off women. Off, off, off!

He swung open the balcony doors and let the warmth of late-spring air wash over him. Sunlight played hide and seek with a quilt of storm clouds, and he sucked in a gentle breeze laced with the sweet, musky scent of impending rain. Along the river, Bradford pears exploded into full bloom. The pollen wreaked havoc with his allergies, but at the moment, he didn’t mind.

I’m not a father…the baby is not mine.

Thanks to negative test results, he wouldn’t be bound to Shayla for the remainder of his life. But someone would. Obviously, she’d had more than one fish in the tank, so to speak. Matt didn’t know why it crawled under his skin to imagine her like that with someone else. He certainly had enjoyed more than his fair share of the female persuasion, never giving a second thought to the flip side of that perspective. His encounters had always been laid back and easy…no strings attached and certainly no expectations. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d never considered the women he enjoyed might be dabbling in more than him. But now that that gear was turning, Matt couldn’t shove the idea from his mind. And suddenly the images he conjured bothered him very much. And the solemn oath he’d muttered in his weakest moment returned to haunt him.

I swear I’ll do anything You ask, God, if you just let this paternity test come back negative.

Surely God wouldn’t hold him to such an oath, would He? He’d been out of his head, crazy with fear.

Matt shook off the thought as he punched a series of numbers into the phone. Calhoun’s on the River didn’t usually deliver this time of day, but he was sure they would make an exception for him.

 

 

Laila Peterson blew a strand of auburn hair from her eyes and pushed the rolling office chair back from her desk. Files lay scattered across an oversized calendar blotter that was riddled with scribbled notes, and the clutter made her crazy. The dreaded five o’clock energy lull set in, dulling her thoughts to gauzy cotton. She needed a cup of coffee—quick.

As she rose from the chair and crossed to a coffeemaker tucked on a small table near the door, she replayed dialogue from the consultation she’d just wrapped up with a frazzled mother whose thirteen-year-old daughter was in desperate need of help.

“Shawna’s run away from home twice in the last six months.” The harried woman had paced the length of the office, wearing a path along the carpet as she retraced her steps time and time again. “She’s angry…rebellious. I don’t know what to do.”

“Her father…?”

“He’s not even in the picture. He’s never been in the picture. I’m on an island here…for better or for worse.”

The woman’s sharp and somewhat caustic words resonated to Laila’s very soul. Were it not for one simple variation in choices, she might find herself the one being counseled instead of the one who offered counseling.

That variation was adoption.

Laila thought of the daughter she’d relinquished to a loving couple, desperate for a child of their own, just a few days shy of fifteen years ago. She’d been alone, pregnant, scared and, at seventeen, much too young to raise a child on her own. Her choice, though heart-wrenching, had been the right one for the baby—one that might afford the child a life of stability and opportunities way beyond Laila’s reach at the time. Even so, some days the decision…the memories and what-ifs…crept back in to sting once again like an angry swarm of bees, leaving an empty and unbearable ache in her heart.

A few moments cuddled close in her arms was all Laila treasured before her daughter was whisked away, swaddled in a soft rose-petal-pink receiving blanket, to find her new path and begin what Laila hoped and prayed would be a happy life with her adoptive parents.

Saying goodbye to her child was—and remained to this day—the most difficult moment of Laila’s life. And it was the fuel that had spurred her to pursue an advanced counseling degree from the University of Tennessee and then spend the better part of a decade learning all she could about wayward and troubled teens before she branched out on her own and opened Second Chances Day School, a place for teens to have just that—a second chance for a happy, fulfilling life.

Laila lifted her mug from the table and filled it with coffee. The brew had been steeping on the burner a good long while, and the first sip soured on her tongue. Extra cream was in order to sweeten the taste, so she squatted to open the door of the small fridge tucked beneath the table and plucked a carton of French vanilla from the shelf. She dumped in a healthy splash, gave the muddy liquid a quick stir, and the java was transformed to just this side of palatable.

Laila sighed. Quitting time drew near. She’d leave everything on her desk, all the folders and registration forms that waited to be aggregated and then filed. She was due a night off—with time to savor a meal instead of inhaling it on the go—to curl up with the novel she’d promised herself, several weeks ago, she’d crack open and read. The mess on her desk could wait until the morning, even if it meant heading into the office an hour or two early to make up for the much-needed free time tonight.

As caffeine coursed through her veins, Laila grinned and smoothed hair from her eyes. The summer caseload was shaping up nicely. All classes were full, except for one remaining slot in the full-day, academic/adventure session. Maybe tomorrow she’d fill it, and welcome another hurting teen to his or her opportunity for a new beginning.

She bowed her head and prayed for the right child, one who needed Second Chances and much as Second Chances needed her—or him.

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

A SHARP RAP ON THE door an hour later startled Matt from his daydream. He ignored the intrusion as a pulled pork sandwich with a side of slaw that had been delivered from Calhoun’s on the River sat untouched on the coffee table. He’d been ravenous when he placed the order, but somewhere between ordering and delivery, his hunger had fled. The whole paternity thing had catapulted him into a funk. Now, the last thing he wanted was anyone’s company. If he pretended not to be home, maybe whoever waited at the door would just go away and leave him alone.

“Matt, I know you’re in there. I saw your car in the parking garage.” The whiny tone of his sister’s voice caused the hairs on the back of Matt’s neck to stand straight up. “So, open up.” She rapped again—harder, and then jiggled the door handle. Thank God he’d thought to lock it. Her words grated like a scraped knee against concrete. “Come on, Matthew. Open the door.”

Matthew…great. Kara only called him by his given name when she was really, really in a tizzy.

“Give me a minute.” There was no way out, short of jumping four stories to the river below, and that wasn’t an option. Matt gritted his teeth, sighing. Whenever Kara showed up unannounced on his doorstep, the results were never good. She was a drama magnet, and strife clung to her like leaches to river-soaked skin. Matt had lost count of the number of times he’d bailed her out of this situation or that over the years. “I’m coming.”

“Hurry.” Her knocks morphed to what sounded like a quick, staccato rain of gunshot. “Sometime today would be nice.”

“I said, I’m coming.” If he didn’t let her in, she was sure to annoy the neighbors to the point that they’d summon the police. Great…that was just what he needed to cap off a perfect day. A grizzly cornered by hunters, Matt stalked to the door, grumbling, “Give me a break, Kara. What’s the crisis now?”

He flipped the lock and barely had a chance to turn the knob and let her in before Kara shoved open the door. Her face flamed a blotchy shade of crimson.

“I’ll tell you what the crisis is—your nephew is the crisis.” Onyx eyes glittered beneath a mop of short-cropped hair in a color Matt could only compare to over-ripe eggplant. He didn’t even remember her natural color anymore, and he doubted she could, either. As she crossed the threshold, he noticed she’d lost a considerable amount of weight since he’d last seen her, weeks ago. Her cheeks were gaunt, the bones of her shoulders poking through a thin cotton T-shirt. “I can’t take it anymore. You’ve got to help me, Matt. This is way too over-the-top.”

“Wait. Whoa…take a breath.” He stepped aside to avoid being trampled. “What’s going on?”

Kara strode back to the door. “Get in here, Grayson—now.” Her voice rang as clipped as her steps. She disappeared into the hallway again and a scuffle ensued. Then Grayson stumbled into the room as Kara gave the teen a swift shove. His ball cap flew in one direction while he plowed in another. Matt lassoed him, rescuing the coffee table—and Gray—from certain injury.

“Hands off.” Gray’s voice was hoarse and his eyes puffy as he shrugged from Matt’s grasp. “Let me go.”

“What’s going on?” Matt retrieved Grayson’s ball cap from the floor and handed it back to him. “What’s this all about?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” Gray nodded toward Kara as he smoothed his wrinkled black T-shirt and pulled the cap low over red-rimmed eyes. He skulked to the far corner of the living room and rammed one shoulder against the wall. Turning sideways, he dipped his head low and away like a two-year-old playing peek-a-boo…if I can’t see you, then you can’t see me.

“Oh no you don’t go trying to pin this on me, Grayson.” Kara plowed head-on into the tirade, her cheeks now flushed to a shade that nearly matched her hair. “Tell Matthew what you’ve done—or should I say, what you haven’t done—for weeks now.”

“Lower your voice, Kara.” Matt stepped over to peer into the hallway before he closed the entrance door. “The neighbors…”

“I don’t care about your neighbors.” She spun toward him, cranking up the theatrics a notch. “FYI, we’ve just come from truancy court. Unbeknownst to me, your nephew has been skipping school on a regular basis, and the judge was none too happy about that. I’ve been fined, Matt, and for money that I don’t have. And, to top it all off, the judge mentioned the possibility of jail time for me”—she slapped her palms to the sides of her bony thighs— “Me—if Grayson’s disregard for school rules continues.”

“Stop exaggerating, Kara. Jail time?” Matt shook his head in disbelief. “Really?”

“Yes, the slammer. I’m not exaggerating. New, tough truancy laws in the county leave no room for second—or in this case, third—chances, and Grayson refuses to cooperate. He has absolutely no respect—”

Grayson’s head shot up. “Tell Uncle Matt the whole truth.” His blue eyes pierced as they speared Kara. “You don’t respect me.”

“See what I mean?” Kara’s voice rose to an earsplitting squeal. “And his deadbeat father—”

“Leave Dad out of this.” Grayson swiped at his eyes and then jammed his hands into his pockets. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“Dad? So that’s what he is now? Well, some dad he is, skipping out on child support payments, not to mention his visitation time and strapping me with everything. I’ve begged the courts for months to help, and they can’t seem to get a handle on him or make him toe the line. Yet, you miss a handful of school days, Grayson, and they’re on me like fleas on a mutt. It’s just not fair.”

Gray’s lips trembled as his eyes filled with tears. “Sorry to be such a burden. I try to help around the house, to do stuff for you. But it’s never good enough. All you do is gripe.” A single tear slipped from one eye to course down Grayson’s cheek, and he swiped it away before crossing his arms tight over his mid-section and hunching forward. “And, for the record, I hate school.”

“And I hate cutting the hair of smug, gossipy women and wandering-eyed old men. But I do it anyway, to put food on our table.”

“What food? You haven’t cooked a meal in months. You’re too busy cruising all those Internet dating sites, meeting up with all kinds of creeps. The last guy you brought to our apartment was a—”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is my business when he messes with our stuff and bosses me around. And, he made you cry.”

“You don’t know anything, Grayson.” She crossed her arms tight over her chest, but the way her shoulders hunched signaled to Matt a thread of truth to the words. “I suggest you shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”

“Quit threatening me.” Grayson’s voice cracked as he jabbed a finger in her direction. “That’s all you do, and you have no right. Maybe if you’d roll out of bed before noon every once in a while—”

“Shut up!” Kara launched herself across the room, and before Matt could stop her, her palm connected with Grayson’s jaw. The force of the slap resonated through the room while Gray slammed into the wall, knocking a framed watercolor to the floor. Glass shattered as Kara turned on Matt, huffing like a riled bull. “See? See what he makes me do?”

Shock coursed through Matt as he spread his arms wide, one palm up and splayed like a stop sign toward each of them. “All right. That’s enough.”

It was no secret that Gray and Kara often sparred over rules and boundaries. But how—when—had it escalated to shrieking and slapping? Though Matt had, at times through his teenage years, pushed his parents way beyond the boundaries of their patience, they’d never resorted to such measures of discipline—not for him nor for Kara. So, where had she acquired such tactics?

Matt stepped between his sister and his nephew. His voice rolled out as a low growl. “Time out. Go to your corners. Cool off and then we’ll talk this out.”

Gray trembled as he pressed his back so tightly against the wall Matt thought the boy might meld into the plaster. His eyes, round and wide, filled with tears as he surveyed the ruined picture and its shattered frame. Beneath the light, shards of glass shimmered across the wood like a minefield.

Unfazed by the mess, Kara flopped onto the couch. “There’s no need for corners. I’m done talking. It’s not getting us anywhere.” She eyed the Calhoun’s delivery bag and then reached for it. “I wash my hands of all of it.”

Matt watched her lift the bag to her nose and give it a sniff. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m losing my mind.” Kara raked a hand through her disheveled hair and then opened the bag, took a look at the contents, and without further hesitation delved inside. She found the sandwich, unwrapped it and bit off a healthy hunk. She spoke through a mouthful of pork. “You have no idea how bad it’s been, Matt. While you’re gallivanting around the globe, I’m all by myself, just trying to hang onto my sanity. You have to take the kid. I’ve had all I can handle and I need a break.”

“What? Wait a minute.” Matt’s heart pounded in his chest. To keep his hands busy, he knelt and began to pluck up shards of glass. “You’re being unreasonable. Finish the sandwich, calm down a little and we’ll clean up the mess, work this out. But Grayson staying here with me, well, that’s not an option. You know I travel, Kara.”

“Not during the off season.”

“I’m in negotiations, navigating appearances and promotional events. I might be called away at any time.”

“Doesn’t that make you sound all oh-so-uppity?” Another healthy bite and the sandwich nearly disappeared. “Come on, Matt, get real.”

“I am being real. I might have to leave Knoxville on a moment’s notice. Then what?”

“Hire a babysitter. You have plenty of bucks. It won’t even put a dent in your piggy bank.”

Grayson pushed off the wall, his hands clenching into fists. “I won’t go back with her, Uncle Matt. I’ll run away before I go back.”

“Run away?” Matt sidestepped shards of glass. “Where would you go?”

“Who cares? Anywhere is better than home—with her and all the creeps that come around.” He tugged the ball cap even lower, hiding eyes that overflowed with tears. “And I’m standing right here, you know. I hear every word you’re saying, loud and clear, Uncle Matt. You don’t want me, either.”

“I did not say that.” Matt crossed to the kitchen, tossed broken pieces into the trashcan beneath the sink and returned with a broom and dustpan. “You’re putting words in my mouth. Just…hang on a minute so we can sort this out.”

“I don’t want to go back. You can’t make me go back.” Tears coursed down Gray’s cheeks as his voice caught, and the high-pitched crack in his tone reminded Matt of his tender age. “Please, let me stay.”

“You heard the kid.” As if she hadn’t just practically disowned her son and turned Matt’s world upside down, Kara finished off the last bite of sandwich and licked barbecue sauce from her fingertips. Her gaze connected with Matt’s as she swallowed. “You’re all I’ve got, Matthew, since Mom and Dad passed on. I can’t do it on my own anymore. Gray’s out of control, and I can’t do anything with him. He needs a male influence, someone who will hold him accountable. Seeing as his dad has completely dropped the ball in that department, you need to help. You owe it to me, as my big brother.”

“Big brother…you can’t draw that card on me, Kara. We’re not kids anymore.” Matt watched her go after the slaw. Grimacing, he lifted the broken picture, careful not to displace any more of the glass, and set it on the pass-through counter between the living room and the kitchen. “That’s playing dirty, and you know it.”

“Call it what you want, but you’ve got plenty of time on your hands.” Kara opened the slaw container, scooped a mouthful with a plastic fork. “You’re not even working.”

“Excuse me, but hockey is my job. It pays the bills and then some. And then there are endorsements, appearances, charity functions…”

“Yeah, I saw you on the news last night, at that fancy dinner all dressed up in a flashy tux. Looked like real hard work, eating a juicy filet and tossing back champagne while you rubbed elbows with that blonde floozy.”

“That floozy happens to be my agent’s wife.” Matt raked a hand through his hair as frustration sizzled. “We were seated at the same table together.”

“Whatever.” She used her finger to scoop what the fork couldn’t reach. “While you tinker around those ritzy places and hob-nob with the bigwigs, I’m working myself to the bone trying to make ends meet. How fair is that?”

“You had a chance, Kara, to make your life whatever you wanted.” Matt attacked what was left of the broken glass with the broom. “You had the same opportunities as me, the same upbringing and support. You blew it.”

“So, we’re going to rehash that again?” Tears filled Kara’s eyes and spilled over to smudge her mascara. Black streaked her mottled cheeks. She crumpled the sandwich wrapper and tossed it back into the go-bag along with the used fork and empty slaw container. “So, I made some mistakes. I trusted people and lost. I can’t change the past, but I’m doing my best to muddle through the future.”

“Forget it, okay?” Matt leaned the broom against the wall and backpedaled through French doors and onto the balcony. He needed fresh air to clear his head and ease his heart back into a regular rhythm. Kara might not notice, but he saw Gray’s tears—and heard the kid’s frustration—loud and clear. He leaned on the balcony rail and sighed, weighing his options. Affording Gray a little break from his mother might be good for all of them, and what would a few days spent with the kid hurt?

He turned back to face Kara. “Gray is welcome to stay the night, the weekend at most. But that’s it.”

“That’s not enough.” Kara stood and crossed to the balcony doors. Sunlight that peeked through the thinning clouds showcased every worry-line on her face, adding a dozen years to her age of thirty-three. Time had not been kind to her. “Because as of today, Grayson’s expelled from school.”

“Expelled? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of hauling you both to truancy court?”

“Not if your kid has hacked into the school’s grading system to scramble the information, program his own, and fabricate said information to place him in the lead for valedictorian while swapping those who’ve actually earned the grades to the bottom of the barrel.”

“Grayson did that?” Matt’s mouth dropped open as he swung toward his nephew. Tears or no tears, he’d like to give the kid what-for. “You did that?”

“It was on a dare.” Grayson shrugged, his shoulders tensing in defiance. “I couldn’t back down. I would have lost the only friend I have at that crummy school. Besides, I was going to switch everything back…eventually.”

“A real friend wouldn’t dare you to do such an outrageous and irresponsible thing, knowing it would get you into such hot water.”

“I didn’t expect to get caught. I never got caught before.”

“Before?” Matt gasped. “How many times—”

“Believe me, Matthew, you don’t want to know.” Kara lifted her chin as she drew a deep sigh. “He has to find a new place, a new school, by the end of this month. And he’ll have to attend school this summer to make up for the time he lost laying out, and make restitution for the damage to the school’s computer system. I don’t have money to cover that, so…”

“I’ll take care of it. Just leave the bill. Grayson will pay me back.” Matt lifted his gaze, skewered Gray with eyes that burned like flames. “Don’t worry, we’ll work something out.”

Kara fumbled through her purse. “I have a business card for a school here in Knoxville, one suggested by the court. I spoke with the director on the way here—”

“I’m not going to any school, and especially not summer school.” Grayson crossed his arms tight over his chest once more as the tears in his eyes caught fire. “I’m almost old enough to drop out anyway, so who cares?”

“Drop out…who cares?” Matt sputtered over the words. “I care, that’s who.”

“Then why don’t you ever come around? Why do I hardly ever see you? Mom says you don’t care about me either. Is that true?”

“I…” The question startled Matt. For the second time that day his universe was tossed on its ear. “Of course, I care about you. And, for the record, I guess you’ll be seeing a lot more of me now, right?”

Gray bristled. “I told you, I’m not going to summer school.”

“Oh, yes you are.” Matt surprised even himself with the sharp bite of his words. “And, as far as dropping out, you’re only fourteen.”

“I’m fifteen. I turned fifteen last month. You must have missed that memo, too.”

“Oh, right.” Fifteen? What had happened to twelve and thirteen and fourteen? “Regardless, dropping out isn’t an option, so just shelf that idea.” Matt’s blood pressure soared to dangerous heights. “And, you know you can’t get a driver’s permit unless you have passing grades.”

“So what? Mom would never let me drive, anyway. She says we don’t have money for the insurance.”

“Well, I have the money. But I’m not going to share with a kid who’s too irresponsible to make it to his classes and put forth enough effort to pass.”

“Maybe I’m just stupid.”

“Someone smart enough to hack into the school’s database? I hardly think so.”

Grayson turned, paced a few short steps toward the balcony and paused before crossing back. His eyes shone bright with the measure of his plea. “But I want to be like you, Uncle Matt, just having fun, traveling all the time for hockey games and walking around with a hot chick on each arm. It’s so cool.”

“A hot chick…where did you learn to talk like that?” Matt shook his head, mortified. “And, is that what you think I do?”

“Yeah. Isn’t it?” Gray shrugged. “I’ve seen you on TV. And on the Internet just yesterday I read—”

“That’s enough. Good grief.” Matt knew all too well the stories that were circulating around cyberspace about him. The paternity suit came rushing back, souring his stomach. How long would it take that to hit the airwaves? He turned to address Kara as his temper ignited to a blistering boil. “Do you have the business card for that school?”

“Yes, somewhere in here.” She sifted through her purse, came up with a small, matte-gray piece of cardstock. “Here it is.”

“Give it to me.” Matt snatched it from her fingers, scanned the print. “Second Chances Day School?”

“Uh huh. That’s right.”

“You said you spoke with…” He read the director’s name in the lower right-hand corner. “Laila Peterson?”

“That’s right, and I made an appointment for ten tomorrow morning, figured you can handle the details.” She draped the purse strap over her shoulder and headed for the door. “Grayson’s bags are in the hallway. I’ll let you help him haul them in. I have to head back to Dandridge now. Unlike some of us, I have to work this afternoon. Thanks for the sandwich, though. It hit the spot.”

As her heels clicked along the wood floor and the door whooshed closed behind her, Gray swiped tears from his cheeks and then jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans before turning to Matt. His voice trembled as he asked, “What now, Uncle Matt?”

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

LAILA WAS ELBOW-DEEP IN a spreadsheet when the intercom buzzer shrilled. She pressed the intake button and, out of habit, leaned toward the speaker. “Yes, Darla?”

“Your ten o’clock appointment is here.” Her administrative assistant’s voice tumbled over the line. “And let me tell you, he’s a dish if I’ve ever seen one.”

“A dish? What’s gotten into you this morning? That’s hardly a professional description of a potential client.”

“I just call them like I see them, and this one’s a heaping helping of tall, dark and off-the-charts handsome.” She lowered her voice to a murmur. “And here’s a bonus…Do you know the Chicago Blackhawks?”

“The hockey team? Of course, I’ve heard of them. Who hasn’t?”

“Well, it’s your lucky day. You’re about to get to know their star center a little more up close and personal.”

“I thought the appointment was with…” Laila fumbled through the mess on her desk for a file. “…a woman named Kara Cramer.”

“Believe me, I’m not looking at a Kara anybody. This guy is pure, premium-grade male.”

“For goodness sake, stop salivating and send him in, Darla.” Laila glanced up at the wall clock. Sure enough, it read ten o’clock on the nose. Where had the morning gone? “And hold my calls.”

“Will do.” Darla’s voice was a breath of a whisper as she added, “He’s not, you know, wearing a certain piece of jewelry on a certain finger of his left hand, if you get my drift.”

“I most certainly do, and that’s most certainly enough.” Laila tossed her pen on the blotter, sighing. Darla was a few years younger and in a happy, solid marriage, which she continually asserted Laila also deserved. She had a one-year-old son, a daughter that had recently celebrated her third birthday, and six-year-old twins who’d just finished kindergarten. She and Laila had been neighbors as kids, roommates through two years of college, and were now friends for life. Darla knew Laila’s history and had been there to help her weather the storm following the adoption.

All said, it came as no surprise that Darla made it her mission in life to be Laila’s personal matchmaker, a distinction that often bordered on…irritating. If Darla wasn’t so bubbly and affable and so much the younger sister Laila had always yearned for—not to mention one of the most efficient administrative assistants this side of the sun—Laila might have lost her patience a long time ago. As things stood, and with a good dose of experience dealing with Darla’s quirky personality, Laila instead chose to employ a measure of humor. “How many cups of coffee have you had this morning?”

“Too many, I suppose.”

“Do me a favor and switch to decaf.”

“I have, mostly, but—”

“Good. That will be all the commentary for now. Just send in the ten o’clock.”

Laila disconnected and shuffled papers, humming along to music that drifted from the radio on a nearby shelf as she cleared a space along the desk for the manila file folder she’d already added a packet of blank intake papers to. If the appointment went as planned, her final summer slot would soon be filled. Just in the nick of time, too, since the session was slated to begin on Monday.

God answers prayer.

A soft rap sounded on the closed door and then Darla pushed through with two males in tow. The first, a tall man with commanding cobalt-blue eyes whom Laila recognized from TV and newspapers, was followed by a sullen boy who appeared to be about fourteen or so. Sandy-brown hair spilled from beneath a ball cap tugged low on the teen’s head. She had no idea the color of his eyes; they were hidden beneath the shadow of a soiled brim. He leaned against the door frame with his fists jammed deep into the pockets of jeans ripped at both knees. The man looked frazzled and the boy none-too-happy. Typical, except Laila rarely dealt with fathers, and another quick check of her appointment affirmed the name of a woman as the person who had requested the meeting.

“Good morning.” The man stepped forward, offering his hand as she rose from her seat. A terrain of raised flesh along his knuckles—scar tissue—had Laila wondering how he’d acquired the injury. Darla’s description drifted back. Tall, dark and handsome failed to do him justice, despite the scar at his hairline and a slightly crooked nose that boasted signs of more than a single break. He wore a navy polo and khakis that showed off a build most likely honed through hours of strenuous physical activity. And those eyes…they captured Laila and held tight, making her feel as if she were the only other person in the world.

Even so, Laila refused to be swayed by his good looks or the scent of his aftershave, something crisp and clean with a hint of pine, reminiscent of the outdoors. Above all, she prided herself in a high level of professionalism as the leader here at Second Chances. Framed documents that adorned the walls were testament to the years she’d spent training for situations such as this, yet her voice caught on a sigh as she returned his greeting. “Welcome to Second Chances.”

“I’m Matthew Bennett and this is my nephew, Grayson.”

Ah…a nephew. That explained things, sort of.

“Thanks for seeing us on such short notice. My sister—”

“Kara Cramer?”

“That’s right. She said she spoke with you yesterday.”

“Indeed, she did.”

Laila cleared the frog from her throat as his hand enfolded hers, held. “I’m Laila Peterson, the director here at Second Chances. Welcome to both of you.” 

Grayson hung back in the doorway, shuffling feet as he gnawed on a nail. He reminded her of a colt, tall and gangly and just beginning to grow into the length of his frame.

“Do I have to stay?” His voice, though somber, held a bite of irritation.

“Of course, I’d like you to.” Laila ignored the bite as she motioned to a pair of leather-backed chairs that flanked her desk. Irritation and defiance, she’d learned, simply served as a means to cover up insecurity. Even so, it was a place to start…a single brick dislodged from the wall she’d have to work hard to completely dismantle before something new could grow in its place. “Have a seat. Your input is vital to your program here, should you choose to enroll following our conversation.”

He took a tentative step forward. “You mean I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice, Grayson.”

“You’re just saying that.” A second careful step, and then he froze. “We both know I have to come here, whether I like it or not.”

“Well, you haven’t been accepted yet, so I suppose that remains to be determined. Have a seat, both of you.” Laila motioned to the chairs once more, careful to keep her voice firm, yet coaxing—a quality she’d perfected over the years. She waited while they settled in. “And, if you wouldn’t mind removing that ball cap, Grayson, so I can see your eyes, we’ll get started.”

Reluctantly, Grayson removed the cap and a spill of unruly hair washed over to shadow his face. Laila’s heart tugged as she reached over to lower the radio to a gentle murmur. Something about the look in Grayson’s eyes when the cap came off, like a wounded animal ensnared in a trap, told her there was so much that needed to be done. She had a sense, though, that this would in no way be an easy journey, as the road appeared rutted and mottled with fissures.

“Thank you, Grayson.”

“Gray. I only get called Grayson when I’m in trouble.”

“Thank you, Gray. Now, if I may have just a moment…” Without hesitation, she folded her hands and bowed her head. Her lips parted as she formed the first words of what would surely amount to many appeals on Grayson’s behalf.

“Wait. Whoa.” Matt’s voice rang out, sharp and quick, startling Laila so her head snapped up.

“What’s wrong?”

He leaned forward in his chair, placing a hand on the corner of the desk. “What are you doing?”

“I’m praying.” Laila speared him with her gaze. “And you’re interrupting.” Her lips curved into a frown of disapproval.

“Praying.” He tapped his knuckles along the desktop. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why would I kid about something as important as prayer?”

“Because this isn’t a church, it’s a school.”

“I’m aware of that, seeing as I’m the director here.” Laila smoothed a hand through her hair. Her temper flared and she drew a deep breath, urging it down a notch. Wrath would serve no purpose here. “We here at Second Chances believe in the power of prayer. Do you believe in it, Mr. Bennett?”

 

 

 

“I…” He gaped at her. “Well, I haven’t given it a whole lot of thought lately.”

 “Perhaps now is a good time to restart that thought process. You’re welcome to join me in bowing your head, if you’d like.” Her gaze turned to Gray, whose mouth hung open at the exchange. “You may do the same as well, Gray.”

Matt bristled as the odd feeling he’d experienced just yesterday niggled once again at his conscience.

I swear I’ll do anything You ask, God, if you just let this paternity test come back negative.

Was Gray’s sudden appearance on his doorstep, followed by this meeting, on that list of anything? And hadn’t Laila heard of the first amendment? He supposed, with Second Chances being a private day school, it was afforded a bit more leeway as far as the subject of religion went. But this much…really?

Matt glanced over at Grayson, who’d removed the ball cap and stuffed it into his back pocket. His head was bowed slightly, in deference to Laila’s request as she began to pray, but his eyes remained open, his expression an odd coupling of wonder and defiance.

“Dear Lord,” Laila’s lilting voice whispered through the room. “We come to you in this moment to ask for Your guidance in this situation. We lay our hurting hearts, Lord, and boatloads of confusion at Your feet. Help us to set the paths straight and to work together in a manner that will be pleasing to You.”

Her voice was a melody that entranced Matt. He found his head dipping, his hands drawn toward one another, as a sudden sense of peace washed over him. It was as if her words forged a path through him, leaving behind a trail of warmth as she continued.

“Guide us by Your hand and with Your will alone, to build a future for Gray that will prove to be bright and promising. We rest in the assurance that You can move mountains and restore fractured hearts. Amen.”

Matt sat mesmerized for a moment, his breathing light and steady. He eased back in the chair, glanced up and found her watching him with eyes as bright and engaging as shimmering orbs of light.

“There, now we can continue.” Laila’s smile warmed the room as music drifted softly from the radio. Something had shifted inside him, but Matt was at a loss to put his finger on what, exactly, had just transpired. Had Gray felt it, too?

The answer came with a single glance. Grayson fidgeted in the chair at Matt’s side. His fingers played with a frayed thread at the torn knee of his jeans and the grimace on his face was sure to become permanent if something didn’t change, and quick.

“You didn’t really mean all that, especially the part about me.” Gray’s voice was laced with sarcasm.

“Of course, I did.” Laila pressed her palms to the desktop and leaned in. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t really mean it.”

“You can’t really believe that God…” Grayson shook his head and then continued on as if he’d just plunged over a waterfall and survived the drop. “I mean…we’re not even at church.”

“You can talk to God anywhere.”

“Oh,” Gray shrugged. “I thought people only prayed at church, and sometimes at the dinner table. Heck, my mom doesn’t even own a dinner table. Uncle Matt does, though, but we haven’t used it yet. Last night we went to the gym because he needed to blow off some steam. It was late when we finished, and I found this stray kitten skulking along the road on the way home. He was soaking wet and so scrawny with his fur all matted. I talked Uncle Matt into letting me keep him—”

“We haven’t finalized that yet,” Matt interrupted. “And if we do decide to keep him, let’s be clear that you’re cleaning the litter box.”

“Yeah, and then …” Gray’s voice trailed off. “Well, I guess we both forgot all about dinner.”

“I see.” The hint of a smile brought a slight curve to Laila’s lips. “Sounds like an eventful night, all things considered.”

“Sort of. I left out the part about Uncle Matt chucking my cell phone from the balcony of his condo. That didn’t go over too well. We had a big f—”

“There were some fireworks.” Matt broke in. “But it’s blown over now. Everything’s okay.”

“Yeah, Uncle Matt didn’t yell too loud, not like Mom. But my phone…it’s toast.”

Laila caught her lower lips between her teeth, tugged slightly before letting go to continue. “Have you ever been to church, Grayson?”

“I went a couple of times a few years ago, with this kid who lived down the street. I mean, he used to live down the street, before I moved to a new place, and then another new place with my mom.” He shrugged. “I haven’t seen him in a long time, and now I live with Uncle Matt.”

“He can take you to church.”

“Uh uh. I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “Last I heard, Uncle Matt doesn’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo and neither does my mom. She says all churches care about is how much money we can give, and we don’t have any to give. She says she’s not working double shifts cutting hair just so the congregation can enjoy the most fancy-schmancy stuff that we don’t even buy for ourselves.”

“I see.” Laila nodded. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you don’t have to be inside the walls of a church—or at the dinner table—to pray. I assure you, God hears you wherever you happen to be at the time, even if you no longer own a cell phone. He doesn’t need fancy and high-tech equipment, just honesty.”

“Cool.” A breath rushed out of Gray. “I think I can do that.”

“Of course, you can.” Laila turned to Matt. “Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. Bennett?”

“Matt. Call me Matt, please. Mr. Bennett was my dad.”

“All right, then. Would you like a cup of coffee, or a soda, Matt?”

One eyebrow lifted in a quirky grin as Laila stood and rounded the desk. Matt did his best not to notice sculpted legs peeking from beneath the hem of a modest, floral skirt, or the subtle scent of her perfume, light and citrusy, that wafted as she passed by his chair. He focused on the framed photos, each with a group of teens flanking Laila, which lined the wall behind her desk and proved evidence of the many young lives she had impacted.

“Coffee sounds good. Thanks.”

“Hey,” Gray broke in as he also noticed the photos. “Did all those kids come here for school?”

Laila glanced back toward the array and her smile told a story. “You bet they did.”

“That’s a lot of kids. Did they all make it?”

“Make it?”

“Pass their classes, finish the program.”

“If they’re in a photo then yes, each of them did just that…some of them even more.” Laila tapped the photo farthest to the right. “Hannah plays basketball here at the University of Tennessee on a full scholarship.” Another tap on a photo to the left. “Ryan just returned from a tour with the Navy SEALs.” One more tap. “And Kenny—”

“Kenny Draymond. I’ve seen him on TV.”

“That’s right. He was a finalist on this season’s American Talent and just guested on WIVK’s Friday Spotlight. He’s performing in a concert at Thompson Bowling Arena next month.”

“Wow, awesome.”

“Yes, it is.” Laila smoothed a hand over the frame. “There’s no mumbo jumbo in these pictures, merely truth.”

“You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, you know.” Matt frowned, suddenly feeling as if he was the one under a microscope, bared for inspection and dissection, instead of Gray. “It’s true I haven’t been to church in years, but Gray took that sentiment, with his mumbo jumbo comment, completely out of context.”

“Is that so?” Laila stepped over to a small table where a coffeemaker chattered as fresh brew streamed like muddy water into a carafe.

“Yes.”

“I wonder if any of those kids in the pictures ever had their cell phone tossed from a fourth-floor balcony,” Gray muttered.

“I’d say something of that sort is a strong possibility,” Laila assured him.

“There are two sides to every story,” Matt grimaced.

Laila countered his grimace with a smile. “I’m sure there are, and perhaps in time you’ll have the chance to set the record straight. In the meantime, Gray, how about you? Would you like a soda?”

“Sure I would, if you have one.”

“It so happens I do.” She opened a small fridge beneath the table and retrieved a can. “Here you go.”

“Like I said, coffee’s good for me, since you’ve already got it brewing.” Matt leaned in, took two foam cups from the stack beside the coffeemaker, and filled one for each of them. “I don’t mind pouring my own.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.” Laila took the cup he offered, sprinkled in creamer and one pouch of pink sweetener, and stirred it all together before tossing the stir-stick into a trashcan beneath the table and then heading back to her seat. She settled in, smoothed her skirt as she took a moment to savor the coffee, and then flipped open a file folder. Hair the color of sunlit summer wheat dusted with cinnamon framed her face in a shimmer of soft waves. Golden-brown eyes settled on Matt as she handed him a sheaf of papers and a pen. “These are for you.”

“That’s…” Matt took the papers and flipped through the generous stack, grimacing. “…a lot.”

“It’s just the right amount to cover all our bases.” She pulled another set of sheets from the folder and turned to Grayson. “And these are for you. The first packet is a questionnaire that you’ll need to fill out in order to help me tailor your program. The second is a contract.”

“A contract?” Grayson’s gaze narrowed with suspicion as he popped the top on his soda. “Why?”

“That particular contract is a requirement of every student who enrolls here. It simply outlines our code of conduct and your intent to follow such code. You should consider the contents carefully before signing.”

“What if I don’t agree with what it says?” He drew a long swig of soda and swallowed, his gaze never leaving Laila’s. “What if I refuse to sign it?”

“That’s a choice, then, and you’re certainly capable of making such a choice. But, with every choice in life there are consequences. Some are good, some not so much, and some are just flat-out awful. I suppose you’ll have to ask yourself what category of consequences will follow whatever decision you make, and then use that information to decide what you want to do next.” Laila handed him the paper. “I want you to take your time, read everything start-to-finish, and only sign on the dotted line if you truly plan to honor what’s stated, okay?”

“That’s fair enough. So, I can take this back to Uncle Matt’s condo, think things over tonight if I want?”

“Absolutely. Your uncle will have some homework of his own to complete, as well.”

“Did you hear that, Uncle Matt?” Gray grinned as he slapped Matt’s thigh. “You have homework, too.”

“Ha ha. I’m glad you find that so amusing.” Matt slouched in the chair. What was up with this? It was certainly not what he’d bargained for. “Put a lid on it, Gray.”

“So…” Laila glossed over the outburst. If she garnered any amusement from it, she hid it well. “I imagine, Gray, if you choose to enroll here, we’ll need to touch base to square everything away, hopefully sometime tomorrow and definitely before the weekend. The summer term commences at eight AM sharp on Monday morning.”

“I haven’t even had a summer break.”

“A consequence of prior decisions, I assume?” Laila’s eyebrows knit together as she frowned and tapped a pen along the desktop.

“Whatever…if you say so.” Gray scowled and nudged the desk leg with the toe of his scuffed tennis shoes. “I Googled you—this place—on the Internet before Uncle Matt tossed my iPhone.”

“And what did you find?”

“That you offer some art classes.”

“That’s right. We have an array of drawing and watercolor classes, even a bit of sculpture.”

“And you do lots of stuff outside the classroom. That’s cool.”

“I think so, too. We try our best to maintain an active, hands-on program here. It’s good for the mind to use the muscles. That’s not to say we don’t do our fair share—and then some—of classroom academics, as well.”

“I figured as much.”

Laila hit the intercom buzzer and waited for a reply before continuing.  “Darla, would you send Iris in for a moment? I’d like her to show Grayson around the building, give him a bit of insight into how we operate and what we have to offer, answer any questions he might have.”

“I’ve already put her on alert. She’s on her way.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Before Laila had a chance to disconnect, a girl about Gray’s age, with blonde hair pulled into a bouncy wave of a ponytail and bright blue eyes, appeared in the doorway.

“Miss Peterson?” She stepped into the room, her voice bubbling over with enthusiasm. “I’m here to conduct the tour.”

“That was quick. Iris, meet Grayson. He’s considering enrolling in the summer program. I thought you might show him the ropes.”

“Cool, sure.” Iris offered a flash of a smile coupled with a vigorous nod, and Matt wondered what infraction such a perky and apparently happy kid had committed in order to land herself at an alternative school. “I’ll give him the fifty-cent tour. C’mon, Gray—can I call you Gray? Let’s take a walk. I know it’s kind of weird around here at first, and there’s heaps of info to devour. But you’re safe with me.”

Gray straightened in the chair, his gaze fixed on Iris as he removed the ball cap from his pocket, fluffed it out and set it back on his head, dipping the brim just low enough to shield his wary eyes. “Can you hold my questionnaire and the contract, Uncle Matt, until I get back?”

“Sure.” Matt took the papers from him. “Take your time. I’ll catch you on the flip side.”

“We’ll meet you both in the gym when we’re through here,” Laila added. “So, it’s fine to just hang out there and shoot some basketball when you’re done.”

“Okay.” Iris turned from the room with Grayson at her heels. “The gym’s super cool. You’re gonna love it. Do you know how to play basketball?”

“Yeah, of course I do. Why?”

“How’s your jump shot?”

“Better than yours, I’m sure.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Only if you want it to be.” Gray snickered.

“You catch on fast. I like that.” Iris winked. “You’ll fit in just fine here.”

“We’ll find you in the gym, then.” Laila smiled as she stood and rounded her desk to close the office door. Laughter skittered down the hall, drifting through the paneled wood. “Well, that certainly went better than I expected. Mission accomplished.”

“Man, you’re good.” Matt shifted in his seat and propped a foot on one knee. “I’ll give you that.”

“This is what I’m trained to do. Iris will draw Grayson out, help him to feel comfortable. She has a gift for that. That’s exactly why I encouraged her to head up our public relations team.”

“Public relations…” Matt scratched a smattering of stubble across his chin. “But she’s only, what— fifteen?”

“Fourteen. And you’re never too young to learn how to approach and engage people, how to carry your part of a conversation. Instilling confidence is an integral part of what we strive to accomplish here at Second Chances. We encourage kids to become leaders instead of followers, to pave new and socially productive ways of tackling hardship instead of wallowing in the old and feeling sorry for themselves.”

“I’m sold, but I’m not the one who needs to be convinced. Gray’s a tough cookie. He’s had some hard knocks with his dad taking off. And my sister, well, she’s got a list of issues longer than a country mile.”

“We’ve all been through some hard knocks, and what we choose to do with them helps to form who we are. Toughness is an admirable quality if it’s used for good…all the more to offer as a leader.”

“Gray likes to draw, that’s why he mentioned the art classes.”

“Good. That’s a starting point.”

“But I have to warn you, you’ll be doing well to hold his artwork to paper, instead of your walls.”

“No worries. I can manage that.” Laila jotted a note on the file folder. “Who knows, I’ve been looking for someone to do a mural or two around here, add some color and diversity to some of the classrooms. Gray might be just the kid I’ve been waiting for.”

“You sound like Superwoman.”

“No super powers here, no cape. I simply pay attention.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” Laila sipped from her coffee cup, studying him carefully over the rim, before setting it aside. “As was mentioned, I spoke with Gray’s mother on the phone yesterday, so I’m wondering why you’re here today instead of her.”

“Like I said, she carries enough baggage to fill a box truck. It’s a long story.”

“It always is.” Laila glanced up, clicked the pen in her hand, and with that single flick something inside Matt stumbled. His pulse did a weird little salsa before the brakes kicked in, easing it back down to a normal cadence. It was as if the world stopped and then drew a deep, cleansing breath before continuing to spin on its axis.

“I don’t want to burden you with the details.”

“No worries there. I have plenty of time to listen. It’s part of the whole paying-attention thing.”

“I’m paying attention, too.”

“And what do you see?”

“No verdict yet. You’ve got me puzzled, Miss Peterson—may I call you Laila—and I’m still summing it all up.”

“I’ve got you puzzled? Why?”

“What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this, spending your days with kids who’d rather have every tooth yanked without anesthesia than go to school?”

“A woman like me? And just what kind of woman am I?”

“Still figuring that out, too.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Oh, I will.” Matt wondered what it was about Laila that piqued his desire for a closer look. She certainly didn’t fit the bill for the tall, curvy women that most often captured his attention. She was, in effect, the polar opposite with a frame that he figured barely hit the five-foot mark and was more on the slender side than sculpted. Her shorter-length hair wasn’t much of a turn-on for him. He liked something he could run his fingers through. And the whole prayer thing…Gray was on the mark there. Matt did look at the church experience as a sort of mumbo jumbo led by men who were, at best, imperfect. Why should he listen to their thoughts—their direction—on God? He had his act together, didn’t he?

Yet, there was something ever-so-subtle about the woman sitting across from him that called for a double-take. Maybe it was her eyes?

Matt chuckled to himself. Her eyes? Really? He thought back to Shayla and Margo and the string of women in his past. If he was asked to provide a firing squad with the eye color of any one of those women, he’d be destined to suffer a sure and quick death. Grayson’s words drifted back to haunt him.

“…I want to be like you, Uncle Matt, just having fun, traveling all the time for hockey games and walking around with a hot chick on each arm. It’s so cool.”

A sudden wave of nausea swept Matt. Cool? The coffee soured in his gut, and he turned from the desk…and Laila’s watchful eye.

“Mr. Bennett, are you okay?”

“Matt.” He waved off Laila as beads of perspiration dampened his shirt along the small of his back. “And, just give me a minute to process…all of this.”

What was happening to him? Maybe Coach was right about the concussion. Maybe his brains were scrambled. Music on the radio gave way to the adrenaline rush of an over-enthused car salesman touting used vehicles, grating along his frazzled nerves.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Laila prodded, “I’d like to hear more about Gray and his mother, and about how you all came to be at this juncture.”

This juncture…was he truly at a juncture in his life? The roiling in his gut coupled with pricks to his conscience were all the answer he needed.

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

“WHEN’S THE LAST TIME YOU had a background check?” Laila tapped her pen along the polished desktop.

“A background check?” Surprise darkened Matt’s gaze as he rose from his seat. “You mean like the police conduct for potential criminals?”

“That’s exactly what I mean, and I’d appreciate it if you’d sit back down.”

“Why would I need one of those?” Matt lowered himself back into the chair. His tone was suddenly gruff as setting concrete. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do.” Thankful for the heads-up from Darla, Laila nodded as she continued. “You’re the Blackhawks center, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” He drained his coffee cup and lifted it in a sort of salute. “Do you mind if I grab another?”

“Not at all. Help yourself.”

He swiveled toward the small table behind his chair to refill his cup. “I’m on national TV for months at a time, scrutinized at every shot-on-goal, every penalty. So why do I need a background check? The very thought is beyond ridiculous.”

“Despite your…notoriety,” —Laila emphasized the word— “it’s standard procedure around here for anyone who works with the kids to be officially scrutinized—not by the media or fans, but by law enforcement officials. You don’t have anything to hide, do you?”

“Of course not. Do you?”

“We’re talking about you, Matt.” She shifted in the chair, his question tossing her for a moment. Quickly, she found her proverbial footing and continued. “Not me. Now, as far as Second Chances goes, we dot our I’s, cross our T’s, and cover all our bases.”

“That’s admirable. But I’m not planning to work with any kids. Gray’s enrolling here so you and your crew can work with him.”

“And I will certainly do that, alongside my staff…and others.” Laila sighed as she reached for a pair of reading glasses and propped them on her nose. “How much do you know about the way the program works here at Second Chances? Did your sister share anything about our daily operations with you?”

“Not much and no. She was too busy ranting at Gray, wreaking havoc, and devouring my take-out lunch.”

“In that case, we’d better start at the beginning with a look at the papers I handed you.” Laila motioned to the manila file folder in his lap. “Grayson’s not the only one who has a questionnaire and a contract to consider, Matt. Why don’t you go ahead and open that folder, and I’ll walk you through the details?”

 

 

Matt’s blood pressure reached a new peak as he leafed through the papers so neatly organized inside the folder. Contract this, questionnaire that, more legalese and mumbo jumbo ad nauseum. He wasn’t bothered with this much paperwork when he’d signed on with the Hawks a decade ago. Good grief, Laila Peterson was a taskmaster.

Again, the paternity issue drifted back. Maybe Matt hadn’t broken the law there, but it was still something that suddenly made him feel as if he’d wallowed in a mud puddle. The way Laila’s gaze lowered and drifted had Matt wondering…maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d taken a roll in the barnyard muck.

She sat silently across the desk from him, most likely giving him time to process all she’d just dumped in his lap—literally. Wire-framed glasses sat on a slightly upturned nose. Her eyes, like two pieces of smooth caramel, were magnified through rectangular lenses. Freckles that dusted her creamy skin complemented the auburn shade of her hair. One hand went to that hair, and the way she wrapped a strand around her index finger had Matt wondering if there might be enough, after all, for him to run his fingers through. She was slight in size, compact like the cheerleaders he’d watched through college. Matt laid odds there wasn’t a kid in the entire school more diminutive than she was, and he wondered how she managed to maintain order amid the chaos.

The gleam in her eyes might have something to do with it. She emanated a take-charge attitude that, if he were completely honest, had him squirming in his seat. He drew a sigh, rolled the tension from his shoulders. Commercials on the radio morphed to a news segment and Matt listened to more of the same…hot weather, cold case files, political deception and drama.

Focus, Matt…the papers.

He paused as his gaze fell over the contract and a string of words highlighted in bold, italicized print. 

…in addition, Parent/Guardian agrees to a minimum of twenty percent volunteer days, scheduled and approved by the director or her designee. 

“What does this mean…volunteer days? Twenty percent…how long is the term?”

“Fifty-three days.”

“That’s…” Matt did the calculation in his head. “Ten days of volunteering.”

“Eleven. We round up.”

“What kind of racket are you running here?”

“No racket. Just a good, solid education with a dose of parental involvement. Our students—the children—need full support of the adults with whom they interact, especially the primary adults, their parents.”

“I’m not Gray’s parent. I don’t know anything about being a parent. Heck, I’ve never even owned a dog. The kitten Gray insisted on rescuing last night is the closest I’ve ever come to parenting. I didn’t sign on for this.”

“Yet, you’re here.” Laila removed the glasses, set them back on the desktop. “Mr. Bennett—”

“Matt.”

“Matt, whether you like it or not—and whether he expresses it in words and actions, or not—Gray’s counting on you. Now, you can do all the volunteer days at once on the front or back end, or even smackdab in the middle. Or, you can string them out over the course of the term. It’s your choice, and more days rather than less are always welcome.”

“I don’t have time to volunteer. My schedule is already overwhel—"

Matt paused abruptly as his name suddenly launched through the news air waves following a preface of This Just In.

“…has just come to our attention that famed Blackhawks center Matthew Bennett, a native of Knoxville, has been enmeshed in an off-the-record paternity case with an unidentified fan who gave birth to a son three months ago. Though paternity test results, which surfaced early this morning, have allegedly confirmed that Bennett is not the child’s father, our sources assert that an under-the-table buyout with the intention to garner the woman’s silence has been in the works for some time.”

Matt grabbed the handles of the chair in a death grip as his jaws clenched. He could hardly stand to listen as the announcer continued.

“So, inquiring minds have to wonder, with Bennett’s sub-par performance on the ice last season, coupled with the injury he sustained and now this bombshell, just what leverage he carries in the arena of current contract negotiations.”

Matt released his hold as he reached across the desk and over Laila’s shoulder to slap at the radio’s volume dial. Papers littered the floor in large slices of confetti as the room went starkly silent. For a string of heartbeats, Laila merely gaped at him. Then she adjusted the collar of her peach-colored blouse and brushed the spill of bangs from her forehead before clearing her throat.

“Wow, interesting stuff and no, I don’t mind at all if you turn off the radio…or splatter coffee all over my important documents.”

“Oh, man.” Matt stepped back to find his foam cup toppled and the dark, muddy brew splashed across the desk to drip onto the floor. “Sorry about that.”

“Not as sorry as you are about that news segment, I’ll bet.” Laila’s gaze was a microscope… inspecting, scrutinizing, and measuring. “Looks like a window may have just opened up in your schedule, affording plenty of volunteer time. Or was the announcer spouting a load of mumbo jumbo, too?”

“Very funny…” Matt grabbed a box of tissues from the shelf, yanked a wad and began to sop up the mess he’d made. If only he could do the same with the media, and decisions from the past that haunted him. “There, got it all. The fallout’s not too bad.”

“Better than the mess you’re facing. Then again, you haven’t spent the better part of the morning organizing, labeling, and filing.” Laila’s gaze met his, held steady as her lips curved into a smirk of disapproval. “You’ve obviously been otherwise…occupied.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If the shoe fits, or in this case, the skate…”

“Look, don’t believe everything you hear on the radio, or on TV, or read in the newspaper, on Twitter, Facebook, or Google. Have I covered all my bases?”

“What part shouldn’t I believe? The negative test results, the under-the-table buyout or the whole issue of paternity, in and of itself?” She shook her head. “Should I continue?”

“No, thanks.” Matt splayed a hand toward her, his mind reeling. Everything sounded so much worse when aired in public. One little detail omitted, or another exaggerated, made all the difference. “It’s…complicated., and definitely not anything like what’s being reported.”

“I’m not even going to ask.”

“Good. Don’t.”

“Look, Mr. Bennett, I’m sorry for my outburst. I’m being less than professional, and I apologize.” Laila’s gaze softened as she linked her fingers and placed her hands atop the desk. “Perhaps we should both rethink this. Maybe Second Chances isn’t the place for you and your nephew. Maybe you should look elsewhere.”

“I…what?”

“Honestly, I’m sorry. I’d like to help you and Grayson, truly I would. But I’m not interested in having media hounds or negative publicity here, and both seem to follow you like a shadow.”

“You can’t mean that. This place—Second Chances—has to be it. I don’t know of any other place for Gray to go. So, I’m the answer—despite my flaws—and you’re definitely the answer for what Gray needs right now. We’re the end of the line.”

“Mr. Bennett—”

“Good grief, Matt.” He tossed the soiled tissues into the trashcan and retrieved the scattered papers from the floor. “Here’s your contract.” He scribbled his signature on the dotted line before pressing the paper into her hands. “Signed and delivered. You’ll get your twenty percent volunteer days out of me and then some. Gray needs this place. He can’t go home, not with the way things stand with Kara. I’ll beg if I have to—just don’t punish him for my mistakes.”

“Begging is certainly not necessary.” Laila scanned the contract, smoothed a finger over his signature. “But, in that case, do you have any notable skills besides hockey and…?”

“If you’re serious about that statement—the volunteer part, I mean—maybe we should discuss it over a decent cup of coffee. It appears we’ve managed to drain your pot.”

“More coffee?” Laila’s laughter filled the room. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am. What better way to clear the air…and my reputation?”

“I’m afraid another shared cup of coffee would only serve to accomplish the opposite.”

“What’s the matter, do you have something against a little adult conversation coupled with a palatable cup of java?”

“No, nothing against the coffee. It’s merely you and your piranha-like tactics that throw a hitch in the second part.”

“Piranha…ouch. That smarts.”

“Sometimes the truth hurts. Maybe coffee with your agent would be a wiser move, considering what just hit the fan. Damage-control seems to be in order.”

“My reputation has weathered worse.” But Matt cringed as his cell phone vibrated in his back pocket.

“I can’t even begin to imagine.”

            “You’ve got the wrong impression of me.” Matt didn’t know why her assertion bothered him, but the bottom line was, it did. He ignored the phone as it launched into a second set of convulsions.

“I have…no impression.”

“That hardly sounds like someone who pays attention. The fact is, you want to hear the rest of the story…the truth about me.” Matt nodded. “I see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. Like I said, I know how to pay attention, too.”

Laila reached for her glasses, perched them back atop her nose. “You’re a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of guy, aren’t you, Matt?”

“See, there you go. You have made an assumption. I have, as well.”

“Please share.”

“Okay. You’re an even-keel, by-the-book, no-detours sort of lady, right?” He switched the radio back on and music drifted. “Hmm…maybe I’m not the one with the story to tell. Maybe it’s all you, Laila.”

“Miss Peterson.”

“Okay, sure.”

“Enough.” Her eyes shone like two pools of rich caramel through the lenses of her glasses. “You’ve been blunt, so excuse me for doing the same, Matt.”

“Go ahead. Hit me with it.”

“Have you given any consideration whatsoever to the fact that you are now, without revocation, completely and solely responsible for Grayson’s care and welfare?” She leaned forward to splay both palms on the desktop. Her chin rose as her gaze met his. “And, have you given any thought at all to what you hope to accomplish—what you’d like him to learn from you—while he’s in your care?”

“I…well…” Good grief, she had him there. Slowly, Matt shook his head. He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Give me a break. It hasn’t even been twenty hours. This time yesterday, I was on the phone with…”

The doctor’s office. Really…really, had that been just twenty hours ago? In the course of less than a day’s time, his whole world had shifted. He didn’t like the feeling—not one bit. Where was he supposed to go from here?

God, if you’re listening, I’d like you to know how annoyed I am by your bizarre sense of humor.

There he went again, talking to the air.

“You were saying?” Laila prodded him along.

“Forget that. I’m not cut out for this. I can’t—”

“You can. You have to make it work. Grayson’s counting on you and watching every move you make. You might want to give that some consideration, Matt.” She tossed her empty coffee cup into the trashcan and rose from her chair. “I think we should head to the gym now. Grayson still has his paperwork to complete, and you, well…you have a bit of business to take care of, as well.”

“Wow.” Matt rose to face her, and realized she barely matched his chin in height. How did one so petite pack such a wallop of attitude? “You’re just a breath of fresh air, you know that?” He didn’t add that most women threw themselves at him. Her salty whit and starched standoffishness intrigued him. If he didn’t manage to make a quick exit, he was sure to do something foolish…um, more foolish…than he already had.

“Oh, give it some time.” She reached around him to unlatch the office door as a grin bowed her plump, moist lips. “And you’ll learn I’m more like a stage five hurricane.”

 

 

 

Chapter 5

 

“ARE YOU SURE THERE’S NO other way around this?” Gray asked as he tapped his pencil along the stack of papers scattered over the wrought-iron tabletop. A breeze lifted his hair so it fell across his eyes, shielding them from the sun as he leaned into the deck rail at Calhoun’s on the River. “I really don’t want to go to school. It’s summer. I should be there, in the water.” He motioned to the Tennessee River below. “Soaking up the sun and all that. Can you rent those canoes and the paddle boats I see people riding in?”

“Yes, you can when you’re not doing school work.” Matt stretched his fingers, snapping his knuckles against the urge to find a pair of scissors and lop off Gray’s unruly mop of hair. It was way too long, even by his mild standards, and annoying as all get-out when it swept across the kid’s eyes, making it harder to decipher Gray’s emotions. He was tough enough to read without all the hair getting in the way. “And you should have thought of the fun and sun while you were messing around, skipping school.”

“Now you sound like Mom, except you’re not yelling and...” He pressed a hand to the side of his face, which still held the slight shadow of Kara’s handprint.

Matt shifted in his seat, balled his napkin and tossed it onto the table beside his plate. “I’ll yell if you want me to.”

“No, thanks.” Gray turned back to the table and slipped into his seat once again. He shook hair from his eyes and drew a fine-tipped marker from his jeans pocket. He reached for an extra napkin the server had left at the table and began to doodle.

“For the record, I don’t want to go to school, either.” Matt watched as a few quick swipes of the pen formed an outline of the old railroad bridge in the distance. “Believe me, I’ve spent my fair share of days behind cinder block walls. Yet, I have to give ten—no, eleven days of hard time to Second Chances, thanks to you. How fair is that?”

“Not very, I guess.” Gray’s gaze shifted from the paper to the bridge, then back again as he continued to create a likeness the structure. “Sorry about that.”

“Sorry is good, but it doesn’t pay the bills.” Matt watched Gray add the details of the riveted steel frame and broken trestles. The kid had some talent, maybe enough to keep him focused and interested in the art classes at the school, along with the rest of the program. “So, for the record, you’ll be paying the time back to me in equally hard labor, starting with cleaning out the spare bedroom back at my condo. If you’re going to stick around, you’ll need a place to sleep, to study…” Matt motioned to Gray’s sketch. “…and to draw. So, we’ll have to get you set up there.”

“There’s an awful lot of stuff crammed into that room. Boxes and trophies, things like that. What if I toss something you want to keep, or break something important?”

“I’ll help you get started, and then you can take it from there.”

“How’d you come by so much stuff?”

“It’s not so much, really. Just a lot of memories. Some of it came from the house your mom and I grew up in. There are lots of things that belonged to your grandparents, photo albums and the like. I never took it all out of the boxes. I suppose because when you move around as much as I do, playing in dozens of cities over the course of a season, it doesn’t make much sense to unpack and put things away.”

“I guess.” Gray lifted the top of his hamburger bun, added another plop of ketchup to the lettuce and tomato perched there. “When do you have to leave again?”

“I don’t know. I’m in contract negotiations—or at least my agent is dealing with that mess for me. For now, I’m staying put here in Knoxville.”

“And when you have to go, what will happen to me?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Until then, the quicker we get started on the spare room, the better. Because you’ll be sacking out on the couch until the job is done, and that’s not convenient or comfortable for either one of us.”

“You’ve got tons of money. Can’t you hire someone to clean and organize your stuff?”

“I could, but I won’t.” Matt plucked a fry from Gray’s plate, dipped it in ketchup before stuffing it into his mouth. “The gig’s all yours.”

“When are you gonna replace my cell phone?”

“Who says I have to?”

“You shouldn’t have chucked it from the balcony. That was a totally Mom thing to do.”

“You’re right. I was wrong to toss it. But you were wrong for making calls while I told you not to, and using language that would curl the toes of a sailor.”

“How did you know about that?” Gray muttered as if Matt couldn’t hear the profanity.

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“There you go again with the less-than-savory language. Maybe I should do like my mom—your grandmother—used to and buy stock in bar soap. A little mouth-washing might do the trick. It worked on me.”

“That’s disgusting. You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” Matt leveled a gaze, held steady until Gray’s shifted. “You’re living under my roof, so it’s my business to know your business. We keep no secrets around here. The quicker you figure that out, the better off you’ll be. Trust goes a long way, Grayson.”

“I get it.” He pushed the school’s papers aside and put the finishing touches on his drawing. “Do you?”

Matt grimaced into his sweet tea and wished for something stronger. Not with Gray around, though. He thought about what Laila had said. “Have you given any thought at all to what you hope to accomplish—what you’d like him to learn from you—while he’s in your care?”

Matt supposed, like it or not, that it was way past time to start considering Gray’s needs over his own.

He gazed over the rail of the deck at Calhoun’s, drinking in the sparkle of water as a slight breeze ruffled the papers waiting on the table. He still had the questionnaire to deal with and a teenager on his hands. Talk about tossing a wrench into things…this whole situation was more like the work of a wrecking ball.

“Two weeks, and we’ll see where we stand with a phone, no sooner.” Matt motioned the server for a refill of tea.

“You mean I’m grounded?”

“Yes. If you want to put it that way, I suppose that sums it up nicely, at least as far as the phone’s concerned.”

“And I thought you were cool. Man, was I way off base.” Grayson shook his head and crumpled the sketch he’d just completed. He tossed the paper onto Matt’s plate. “That just su…stinks.”

Matt lifted his tea glass and drained it. Struggling with a bite of temper, he wiped the inside of the plastic cup with his napkin. “Hand me your marker.”

“What?”

“That marker you just shoved back into your pocket. Hand it over.”

Grayson grimaced as he delved into his jeans pocket, then tossed Matt the thin-tipped marker. “What are you doing?”

“Making a cuss cup.”

“A what?”

“A cuss cup.” Matt scribbled along the plastic, and then turned the cup for Gray to see what he’d written. “Every time you use language you shouldn’t, a slip of paper goes into the cup. Each slip equals one more day you have to wait for a new phone.”

“No fair. That’s bull—”

Matt tore a corner from the bill, tossed it into the cup. “That’s one more day.”

“No way. This is a load of…” he muttered again.

Rip…in went another slip. ‚

“And that’s two. Care to go for a hat trick?”

Gray snatched the soiled napkin from his lap, bunched it up, and tossed it onto the table. “I don’t like you very much right now.”

“Tough break for you.”

“You’re not perfect either, you know.”

“I never said I was.”

“I’ve heard you swear. Why is it okay for you to say that kind of stuff and not for me?”

“I...” Matt scratched his chin, his temper thinning. “You’ve got me there. I don’t have an answer.”

“So…” Gray crossed his arms as the breeze blew hair across his eyes once again. “What happens if you swear?”

Matt leaned the cup against the umbrella stand that branched up through the table’s center to keep it from toppling in the breeze. “Are you sure you’re not a lawyer in disguise?”

“No. And you didn’t answer my question. I want to know what happens to you. When you cuss, do I get to toss your phone off the balcony?”

“Not if you want to keep all your fingers.”

“Then what do you propose?”

Perplexed, Matt released a heavy sigh.

“Okay, here’s the deal.” He leaned in to lift Gray’s ball cap, tuck the front of his hair in tight, and plop the hat back down over his brow. Finally, he’d scored a decent look into his eyes. “That’s better. Now, here’s how it will go down; if I mess up, I’ll remove a piece of paper from the cup, which equals one day less you have to wait for a phone. It will balance like a sea saw. Deal?”

“Hmm…” Gray lifted the cap, and, much to Matt’s displeasure, unleashed his hair once again. “I guess that works.”

“In the meantime, you’d better get hopping on that questionnaire.”

“And you’d better get your paperwork finished, too, then, Uncle Matt. I don’t think Miss Peterson likes to be kept waiting, and we promised to return everything this afternoon.”

“My part’s done. I finished last night while you were drawing. I’m going to return everything to her later today, while you tackle the spare room and the stack of dishes you left in the sink last night.”

“Can we keep Deke?”

“You’ve already named the cat, huh?”

“Yeah. In hockey, deke means to fake an opponent out of position, right?”

“That’s right.”

“So, it makes sense because Deke’s fast…hard to catch. The name fits him.”

“Good choice.”

“Does that mean we can keep him?”

Matt thought of the black ball of fur, dotted with four cotton-white paws. Having something to be responsible for might be just the jumpstart Gray needed to launch him down the right path. And the little cat, once Gray had given him a warm bath and cleaned him up a bit, did turn out to be sort of cute.

“I suppose I can be persuaded, as long as you remember to feed him and keep the litter box clean.”

“I will.” Gray nodded as if his life depended on it. “I promise. You won’t have to remind me.”

“Okay, then.” Matt offered up a fist, bumping knuckles with Gray. “The little guy can’t live on canned tuna fish forever, though. We’ll have to stop by the pet store and grab a bag of food.”

Music drifted out and over the expanse of weathered deck, reminding Matt of the radio fiasco in Laila’s office. What a debacle. If it was possible to crawl beneath the floor tiles, he would have considered digging a hole. For reasons he had yet to fathom, he couldn’t get the vision of her flushed from his mind. It was unnerving, to say the least.

“Is it true, what they said on the radio about you?” Gray glanced over the rim of his soda cup, and Matt was sure that beneath all the hair, his blue eyes held a million unanswered questions. “I heard it while I was in the school’s gym with Iris. Did you really almost get that girl pregnant?”

“That woman, and no. There’s no such thing as almost pregnant. A woman either is or she isn’t.”

“So, she was then?”

“Yes.”

“But not by you?”

“No.”

“But it could have been, right?”

“It wasn’t.”

“If not you, then who?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.” Matt reached for another fry from Gray’s plate before deciding the question stole his appetite. He dropped the sliver back, leaned away from the table and crossed his arms. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Everyone thinks it was you.” Gray tossed a piece of his burger bun over the rail for the catfish circling below. The oversized fishes zeroed in on it like a school of ravenous piranhas. “Does that bother you?”

“Should it?”

“I don’t know. I guess it would bother me if everyone thought I was guilty of a crime I didn’t commit.”

“Getting a woman pregnant isn’t a crime.” Matt wished for another glass of tea to wash away the cotton suddenly lodged in his throat. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not at all wise, given the circumstances, but certainly not a crime.”

“Mom told me I was an accident.”

“She did not.”

“Yeah, she did. Ask her.”

“Good grief, Gray. That’s…” Unable to find the words, Matt simply shook his head.

“It’s okay.” Gray shrugged and bit into his cheeseburger, chewed and swallowed. “Your fingers are still purple. From the dye, I mean. I can’t believe Miss Peterson made you go down to the police station and get fingerprinted, as if you’re just some stranger off the street. Maybe she doesn’t like hockey.”

“It’s certainly not the number-one sport on everybody’s list. But I don’t think that had anything to do with her decision. She just wants the kids at the school to be safe. That’s a good thing.”

“But you’re Matthew Bennett.”

“I know who I am.” Matt laughed. “And you’re right. Laila…Miss Peterson…didn’t seem to be overly impressed with my…accomplishments.”

“That’s a first, huh? Mom’s the only other person I know who’s not impressed by what you do. Then again, she doesn’t much like anything or anyone.”

“Your mom has her reasons.”

“I’d love to know what they are.”

“That’s a conversation for another day. Finish your burger and we’ll head to the sporting goods store to get you a new pair of tennis shoes and some decent summer clothes.”

“Don’t forget Deke.”

“Right. Next will be the pet store, and the finally the barber shop to have something done with that hair of yours. I know you have eyes hidden somewhere beneath that mess. I’d like to see them when I’m talking to you.”

 

 

Laila parked her car and backtracked down the drive to retrieve the day’s mail from her box at the curb. The bit of exercise chased an ache from her lower back and tension from her shoulders, while a warm summer breeze laced with the scent of lilacs eased the throb of an impending migraine down a notch. Matt Bennett had left his mark…a tornado ravaging her modest office—and her composure.

Laila shook her head. What had come over her to treat him the way she had? He deserved the same respect as any other parents—and she had some interesting parents, to say the least. She usually kept her personal opinions of parents on the high road, or at least to herself. Yet, with Mr. Bennett—Matt—she’d nearly lost her composure. It had taken every ounce of resolve not to toss him from her office.

Imagine, asking her out for coffee in such a flippant manner. Did he really think she’d consider spending any time with him—beyond what was absolutely necessary—just because he could talk the wallpaper off drywall and knew his way around a hockey net? Seriously! The guy had a lot to learn about how to treat a woman. Though he was fluent with a plethora of other words, respect didn’t seem to be even a remote part of his vocabulary.

Well, she wouldn’t be like the mindless groupies who followed him from town to town, fawning as he chased a hockey puck over the ice, hoping for a little attention and the chance to drape themselves from his brawny bicep. She’d been there, done that in the vestiges of her soiled past, and she didn’t care to relive the mistake or the unshakeable heartache borne of her recklessness.

Laila paused at the mailbox, closing her eyes for a moment as sunlight spilled over her like a warm, sheltering cocoon. She tried not to reflect on the day and the year, tried not to think that by now the fifteenth birthday of the daughter she’d given up for adoption had come and gone…the presents unwrapped and candles extinguished. Her breath caught on a sob as she wondered what had been wished for as the candles were blown out. Did the child she’d given birth to crave chocolate frosting, like Laila, or was vanilla her favorite? Laila’s heart ached with the realization that she’d most likely never, ever know. Over the years she’d convinced herself she didn’t deserve to know.

She bowed her head, prayed for a sliver of comfort. “For whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart, and He knows everything.” John 3:20 washed over her, bringing with it a bite of conviction. Her Heavenly Father knew every ugly detail about her past and her life, and yet He still loved her. How long, then, would it take her to love herself once again?

She swiped a tear from her cheek and drew a deep, cleansing breath as she opened her eyes and tugged at the mailbox door. Parcels spilled out as education journals mingled with bills and department store catalogs. As usual, she found junk mail, junk mail, and more junk mail. As Laila fanned through the mess, she nearly missed a small, green-and-white slip of paper. Upon further inspection, she saw it was notice that a letter waited at the post office, requiring her signature for delivery confirmation. Laila glanced at her watch. It was way past closing time for the postal service, so she wouldn’t be venturing there today.

She tucked the square of paper into her pocket, making a mental note to stop by the local office on Monday, if she could peel herself away from Second Chances on what was sure to be a hectic first day of the summer term.

 

 

 

Chapter 6

 

“NEED SOME HELP?”

Laila turned toward the familiar male voice to find Matt striding through the entrance to Second Chances gym. “Well, hello there. I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”

“I’m tougher than I look. A little conference with the school director can’t scare me away.”

“That’s good to hear, and yes, I can use some help. But first, tell me how you got in here when all of the doors are locked.”

“Not all of them. I spied your car parked around back, so I tried the door there and it was unlocked.” Matt’s wide grin suddenly dipped to a frown. “It was way too easy to get in. You really should be more careful when you’re working on your own here.”

“Apparently I’m not on my own. You’re here. But I’m usually the queen of careful. I guess I got a little absentminded in my hurry to get this banner hung.”

“Welcome to Summer Term…” Matt scanned the arched string of block letters. “The colors are great…bold and catchy. It certainly caught my attention—right after you did, that is.”

“Thanks for the glowing endorsement.” Laila caught her lower lip between her teeth as she tugged a length of masking tape from the roll draped over her wrist. “There’s so much to do, and I’m just trying to get everything squared away for Monday.” She slapped at the wide expanse of paper and grimaced. “But this tape doesn’t seem to want to cooperate.”

Matt surveyed her as she pressed the tape onto a corner of the banner and then rose on her toes in an attempt to slap it into place. “Seems your technique needs a little work.”

She blew the drape of bangs from her forehead and wished she’d thought to adjust the thermostat upon her arrival that morning. The temperature was less-than-comfortable. “It’s the best I’ve got, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“Let me have a go at it.” He eased in beside her, lifted a hand across her shoulder to smooth the corner of the banner into place. “There. Now, that’s the way it’s done.”

“Show off.” A flicker of heat nibbled up Laila’s spine as his fingers brushed the nape of her neck. She hid her gasp by fisting one hand and pressing the whitened knuckles to her lips. “I can’t help it that I’m a bit…vertically challenged.” The words were muffled through her taut fingers.

“So was my mom.” He stepped between her and the wall and smoothed one hand over the length of the banner, securing each piece of tape. “And she always said, ‘Good things come in small packages.’”

“A wise woman.”

“Very wise.”

He flashed a smile. “I like to think I have a bit of her in me.”

“I’d say you do.” Maybe not the height—he most likely took after his dad in that department—but there was definitely something from his mom’s side. “With your hectic schedule, why didn’t Gray go to stay with your mom for the summer?”

“I suppose that would have been the best choice if she was still here with us. But it’s been nearly a dozen years since a stroke took Mom, and my dad died a few years before her. So, I’m all Gray’s got. Well, me and Kara. So, I guess for now, Gray’s stuck with me.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d lost both your parents. That means Grayson lost his grandparents, as well. Kara didn’t mention it.”

“Why would she, unless you asked her directly?” Matt reached for her hand. “You’d better come down from there now, unless you’re planning on camping out.”

“Right, thanks.” Laila carefully backed down the rungs. “Thanks for helping me. I’m putting you on the school’s decoration and display committee, by the way.”

“Figured you’d go that route. It must be my lucky day. By the way, I heard you singing when I came in. You have a lovely voice.”

“Oh, the music…” She felt the heat of blush wash over her cheeks as she motioned toward the ceiling, where a song drifted from a circular speaker mounted flush with the plaster. “It keeps me company.”

“Listening in for another news flash about me?”

“I’ve had my fill, thank you very much.”

“You and me both.” Matt sighed. “I spent hours yesterday hashing things over with my agent and a publicist, and all it garnered was a verbal, private retraction from the radio station.”

“Must be tough to be so famous…and contribute constant fodder for the press. Can’t say I’ve ever had that problem.”

“Lucky for you.” He placed a hand on the stepladder as if to shield her from a slip. Even atop the pair of steps, she barely matched him in height. “I dropped by because I left this paper out of the file I brought by Friday, and thought you might need it before Monday.” Matt fanned his questionnaire. “I’m not sure how it slipped out of the folder, but I found it wedged between the door and the passenger seat of my SUV. I promised to return everything, so here I am.”

“Great. You passed the first test with flying colors.”

“What test is that?”

“Caring enough to show up and follow through on what you promised.”

“Contrary to what the press has to say, that’s the real me…a man of my word.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

“Well, that’s a step in the right direction.”

“You really are all alone here today, aren’t you?” He peered down the darkened hallway to their left. “Where’s your assistant?”

“Darla? Oh, she’s home. Remember…it’s Saturday.”

“Yeah, right, and you’re here slaving away all by your lonesome. Isn’t that how it always goes?”

“I’m the director. It’s my job to tie up all the loose ends, make sure everything’s polished and ready for a new term’s opening.” She brushed lint from her slacks. “Where’s Gray today?”

“He’s back at the condo, cleaning the spare room and, hopefully, diving into that book you assigned—the one all the kids are required to read before classes start. It took some doing to find a copy on such short notice, but we finally snagged one yesterday down at McKay’s…the used book store over in West Knoxville.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with McKay’s. I frequent there.”

“Well, I’ve never stepped foot inside the place until today. It’s amazing what you can find there. I came away with a handful of thrillers and a devotional that looks more like a comic book.”

“You bought a devotional?”

“Sure. I’ve never read that type of book—I prefer a little action in my reading, mysteries and thrillers, nonfiction stuff, too. But, what the heck. It snagged my interest, tucked into a splashy display set up near the front door. Anyway, my dad kept a devotional at the bedside his entire life. Maybe there’s some merit to it, and I’m hoping the humorous words of wisdom tucked inside will help me keep my temper in check when the going gets tough with Gray.”

“And I can almost guarantee you’ll find some rough roads ahead.”

“Seems I can always count on you for blunt honesty.”

“Just stating the obvious, but I’m glad to hear you’re being proactive. Aren’t you just a little concerned that you might get sucked into the—how did you phrase it—organized religion mumbo-jumbo?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Good.” She shifted gears. “Gray may have to pull double-time to get his book read, but I have no doubt he’ll manage. He seems like a pretty bright kid, despite how his school records read.”

“So, you’ve seen them?”

“Yes. The high school faxed them over yesterday.”

“About the truancy issue, and the computer hacking, and—”

“That’s why I’m here, Matt.”

“Yeah, right. I’m glad you can take this all in stride. Me, I’m a little short on sleep what with Gray showing up on my doorstep, trying to help him settle in, getting him registered here and all the paperwork filled out. I’m not ashamed to say I can use a cup of coffee, and the stuff you brew, well, sorry to point out that what you pass off as coffee works in a pinch but leaves a lot to be desired.” He shifted feet, leaned one hip against the wall, and flashed Laila the bluest set of puppy-dog eyes she’d ever seen. “So, the bottom line is, do directors ever break for a meal?”

“Well, you did help me with the banner.” Laila folded the ladder and began to tuck it beneath her arm before Matt grabbed it away and slipped it under his own. “But let’s get one thing straight first, Matt. I’m not one of your starry-eyed fans.”

“I got that memo, loud and clear.”

“You can’t entice me beyond the coffee with your good looks and charm.”

“Good looks…so, you like what you see?”

“I didn’t say that.” Laila fanned herself, suddenly sizzling in the heated hallway. What was it about him that got to her? “You’re putting words in my mouth. I thought we were going to keep this professional.”

“Did you now? Well, you brought up the subject of enticement.” He winked and she melted. “You think I’m trying to entice you? Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself there, Laila? I have no intention—”

“Save the speech.” The words served as a chilled, arctic blast. “I’ve dealt with your kind before, Matt. I know how you operate.”

“My kind? Good grief. You make me sound like some predator from a reality crime show.”

“You said it, not me.”

“I’ll let that comment slide for the good of the bigger picture.”

“And that picture would be…?”

“That you think I’m good-looking, maybe even a little charming.” He lobbed her previous comment right back at her. Slam, dunk. “Your words, not mine.”

“I didn’t…oh—” She spun away, huffed out a breath as she marched down the hall, the heels of her sandals clacking in a staccato burst along the tile. Of course, he followed like a puppy at her heels. “Are you always this insufferably annoying, or have you worked hard to perfect the skill?”

“It comes naturally, I suppose.”

“You make my head hurt, Matt.”

“Probably a combination of caffeine deprivation and hunger pangs. See, you can use a cup of java, too.” He glanced at his watch. “And it’s inching toward dinnertime. We might as well indulge in a good meal, too.”

“That’s stretching it, truly.”

“Wait. Just give me a sec here.” He slipped in front of her as they rounded the corner near her office. “Don’t think of it as dinner. Think of it as…an orientation meeting. Yeah, that works.”

“Orientation is Monday morning, seven-thirty sharp, right before the first class begins. I expect you’ll be there, Grayson in tow, with bells on.”

“So, I’m a few days early. Think of me as an overachiever.”

“Enough.” Laila splayed a hand firmly over each hip, her temper rippling. “Why do you want to have coffee—and dinner—with me?”

“Why not? You have to eat.” Matt glanced around the office. “I don’t see a brown bag anywhere, and the coffee pot’s not even plugged in.”

“I can think of a thousand reasons why not, Matt.” She jerked the ladder from his grasp, opened a door at the back of her office and tucked it into a small closet. “What I heard on the radio news yesterday, for starters.”

“Oh, I see. You’re still hashing over that. Your inability to come to terms with things, to accept that I’m not perfect but I’m also not a criminal, must indicate that Second Chances is just a euphemism for—”

“This school is not just a euphemism. How dare you assert that you know anything about my intentions—and my purpose—for operating a program such as this?”

“If I’m way off base then clue me in over dinner. We can discuss how I’ll spend my ten—strike that, eleven—days volunteering. I’ve been giving things a lot of thought and I’ve come up with a few ideas that you might want to hear.”

“You…you…”

“I leave you speechless, huh?”

“Not quite.” Laila slammed the closet door and grabbed her purse from a file cabinet drawer. “You win this round, Matthew Bennett, because I’d like to hear your ideas. But as for the rest, you’ll be waving a white flag soon enough.”

 

 

The bite of temper brought a blush to Laila’s cheeks that only served to enhance the caramel color of her eyes. Matt noticed, too, that when she got worked up a smattering of freckles emerged to dust the bridge of her nose. As they crossed the parking lot behind Second Chances and headed toward Market Street sunlight spilled over her, turning her auburn curls to a shimmering halo of fire that framed her face.

“There’s a deli down a few blocks, over on Market Street, and they make a decent cup of coffee.” Laila tucked the purse strap over one shoulder and sidestepped a crack in the pavement. “If you don’t mind, we can walk. I could use a little fresh air.”

“Sounds good to me.” Matt jammed his hands into his pockets against the urge to reach for one of hers. Her long, delicate fingers were devoid of rings of any sort. The only jewelry she wore were tiny rose-colored pearls at each earlobe. Even her lips were bare save for a shimmer of clear gloss. For the slightest moment, he yearned to kiss them. And not just a passing peck, but something stronger, deeper.

Rein it in, Matt. He gave himself a mental slap on the wrist. What had gotten into him? Something about Laila was so confounded appealing, yet he couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, drew him to her. Surely not her sharp tongue, which had a tendency to scald as her words jabbed at his conscience. But whatever it was had him treading into uncomfortable territory. 

First, I’m stopping by on a Saturday and helping her tape banners to the wall, and then we’re headed to coffee and dinner. If I’m not careful, that pretty smile will talk me into scouring the school’s bathrooms with a toothbrush and bleach.

He could only hope the fresh summer air would clear his head and return to him some semblance of sanity.

“How long has Gray been with you?” Laila asked, drawing him back from his thoughts. The question had the effect of ice water tossed on flames. Good. Perfect.

“About…” Matt glanced at his watch. “Seventy-two hours.”

She grinned ruefully. “A lifetime, huh?”

“Feels like it. Three days ago I was a bachelor living all alone in my comfortable, if cluttered, condo. Now I have a fifteen-year-old and a stray cat named Deke. Go figure.”

“Deke?”

“Gray chose the name. Hockey term.”

“Might have figured.” Laila chuckled. “God sure has a sense of humor. Three days ago, I was praying for a kid to fill the final slot of the summer term and what do you know—He sent me you.”

Matt’s hand brushed hers as they reached the corner, and she didn’t flinch. He took that as a good sign. “It’s funny, but I’ve been giving His sense of humor an awful lot of thought lately, too.”

“Have you come to any conclusions?”

“I’m working on it. But you seem perplexed that He seems to have tossed Gray and me on your doorstep. Is that really all so bad?”

“Gray, no. But you…well, it remains to be seen.” She shrugged and turned the corner, heading toward a crosswalk. “The jury’s still out.”

“Let me know when you have the final verdict.”

“Oh, believe me, I will.” She double stepped across the street as the light changed and traffic edged in. “There’s the deli.”

“McCabe’s…I love this place. Haven’t been here in ages, though.” He rushed ahead, grabbed the door and held it open for her. “If I remember right, they make a mean peppercorn turkey on rye.”

“You remember right.” Laila slipped through the door. “Thank you. Is that booth near the window okay?”

“It’s perfect.” Inside, the crowd was buzzing like a contented swarm of bees. The aroma of warm, rising bread mingled with robust coffee and tangy key lime pie, waking the monster in Matt’s belly. Helping Gray get a head start on the spare room had built up another round of appetite. The kid was right—Matt had accumulated a lot of junk that was going to take a small army—a very small army of two—to clear. “You want to grab a seat, and I’ll order for you?”

“I can take care of my meal.”

“No go.” Matt held up a hand. “I invited you here, so it’s my treat. And don’t stress over it because you don’t have to think of this as a date.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I had no intention of thinking any such thing.”

“Well, as long as we’ve settled that…”

“Consider it settled.” She slid into the booth, dumping her purse into the seat beside her. “And I’ll take ham and swiss on honey wheat, a dab of light mayo, lettuce and tomatoes, and a sweet tea loaded with ice.”

“Coming right up.” Matt offered a quick nod. “Hold down the fort.”

He crossed the room and stepped up to the counter, watching Laila from the corner of his eye. She was a mystery, for sure, and had him completely off-kilter. Never had he worked so hard to convince a woman to share dinner with him. Come to think of it, he’d never had to work at it at all. So, what made her different from the others…the ones he drew in with one of the witty come-ons he’d perfected over the years, the ones who came so willingly?

“Matt Bennett, oh-my-goodness! Is that you?” The voice, breathless and purely feminine, drew Matt from his thoughts. He turned to find a blonde woman sidled up to him. One look and he tagged her mid-twenties, with a smile that dazzled and a figure showcased by a snug navy skirt and scoop-necked cream T-shirt that might be called anything but modest. He waited for the usual internal reaction to strike. One heartbeat, two, and…nothing. “Oh, it is you.”

“That’s right.” He kept the tone of his voice light and even as he stepped away from her, inching closer to the counter. “Would you like an autograph?”

“Oh, I already have one of those…and more. Don’t you remember?” As if they danced a two-step, she closed the gap, her voice rising to a squeak of excitement. “I watched you play in Nashville two years ago, while I was hanging out there with some friends. You scored a pair of goals in the final period of the playoffs. That was so cool.”

He remembered the game, as that particular win proved one of the highlights of his career. He smiled at her and then wished he hadn’t. His reaction only served to encourage as she twirled a strand of hair around one finger tipped with a glossy crimson nail. “Yes, those goals did the job.”

“Oh, they did so much more than the job.” She released her hair to drape her hand over his arm, giggling. “Your performance was totally awesome.”

An awkward silence filled the space between them. Matt drew a raw breath and rocked on his heels.

“Thanks, but if you don’t mind, I’m waiting to order.” He peeled her fingers from his wrist. “I really need to take a look at the menu.”

“Oh, you can take a look at the menu, all right, and even order if you’d like.” She flashed him a saucy wink. “Sort of like when we ran into each other in the hotel lobby after the game that night. You remember, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” He froze as her manicured nails grazed his forearm. “But I don’t.”

“Oh, well…” She lifted her fingers from his arm and pressed one to her lips, outlined in a fire engine shade of red, as they dipped to a frown. “I just thought…”

“Like I said, I’m sorry, but I don’t remember meeting you.”

“Maybe I can jog your memory.” Brightening, she reached into her purse, retrieved a pen and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the counter. Quickly, she jotted a number. “I work at Avedon’s down on the west end of Kingston Pike. I know you have a team therapist and all that, but if you ever want a massage, I’m licensed. Look me up.”

“Thanks.” A chill washed over him as the vestiges of a memory bubbled to the surface. Suddenly, his stomach roiled. He turned from her and stepped forward to put distance between them. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s my turn to order.”

“Yeah, well…” She flipped her hair, tugged at the snug T-shirt and smoothed it over her trim midsection. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

As she spun on her heel and walked away, hips swaying in a seductive cadence, Matt fought back nausea. He crumpled the napkin and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. The night—his near indiscretion—came back to slap him in the face. And even worse, across the room, back-dropped by sunlight that streamed through a window to halo her, Laila had witnessed everything.

 

 

 

Chapter 7

 

“IT MUST BE TIRING TO be burdened with such awesomeness.” Laila sat back in the seat as Matt approached. He held a tray heaped with two wicker sandwich baskets, a pair of drinks, and a generous slice of key lime pie wedged between. “Continually outrunning an adoring crowd, signing autographs, and fighting off a trove of women must, at some point, get old. I can’t imagine where you find the time to actually play hockey.”

“It is a chore.” Matt offered a lopsided grin as he doled out food and drinks, leaving the slice of pie and two forks as a centerpiece between them. He set the tray aside and slid into the booth across from her. “And, is that a hint of envy in your voice?”

“Envy?” Laila lifted the top of her sandwich, checked to see that he’d gotten her order right, and then lifted her gaze to skewer him. “Let me assure you that you’re way off base.”

“Then what is it about me that offends you so?”

“I’m really not sure where to start.”

“The beginning’s always a good place.”

“Well, then, you rub me the wrong way, Matt.”

“I can’t help it if people—women—approach me in a deli.” He tore open three packets of sugar, pried the lid from his coffee and dumped in the white stuff, stirring with his finger. “It’s not fair to hold it against me.”

“They don’t just approach you. They drape themselves over you and throw their phone numbers at you.” She ripped the wrapper from her straw and then poked the straw through the lid of her cup. “That might happen once or twice, but it certainly wouldn’t continue without at least a modicum of encouragement from your corner of the arena.”

“You wouldn’t even begin to know what I deal with every day, what it’s like to walk in my shoes, Laila.”

“No, I wouldn’t. And that’s just the point I’m trying to make.”

“If you quit talking in circles, I might be able to make heads or tails of what, exactly, you’re babbling on about.” Matt bit into his sandwich. Mustard dribbled down his chin, and he wiped it away with a napkin.

“Babbling?”

“That’s right. Just spit it out.”

“The cold, hard truth? Okay. You have a gift that can be used for good, Matt, and instead you choose to plunder it. Kids—people—look up to you, including Gray. Like it or not, and as cliché as it might sound, you’re a role model. It’s up to you to decide whether the effect is positive or negative.”

“How do you know so much about kids? Do you have any of your own?”

The question, so out-of-left-field, stole the breath from Laila. She bobbled her cup, dribbling tea into the sandwich basket, and took her time sopping up the mess as she struggled to answer. She avoided Matt’s gaze as she murmured, “I…that’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“I suppose it’s, well…” Laila felt like a traitor as she tugged a fresh napkin from the dispenser and smoothed it across her lap. “Have you ever considered why those women throw themselves at you, and why you encourage them to do just that?”

“I can’t say I have. And, for your information, I didn’t encourage the exchange you just witnessed. If you noticed, I threw her number away.”

“Yes, I saw that. But, did you encourage her at some point in the past?”

“What if I did?”

“Well, that’s the strange thing about the past— sometimes what’s been done can’t be undone. Sometimes it comes back to bite you.”

Was she trying to convince him…or herself?

Matt grimaced. “It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know my peppercorn turkey comes with a cozy little lecture.”

“I’m not concerned with warm and fuzzy.”

“That’s the understatement of the century.”

“I think we should move away from this line of discussion and on to your ideas for volunteering at school.”

“And I think we should hash things out some more. If we’re going to be working together, we might as well get everything out in the open—just lay it all on the table.” He reached for the salt. “Do you have any skeletons in your closet, Laila, any residue of poor judgment or an indiscretion that might someday come back to bite you?”

“I hardly think that’s your business.” Though she did her best to deny it, her belly clenched at the realization evoked by his words. There was one thing—an insurmountable thing—that continually surfaced gnaw at her.

Her daughter. Juliette.

To tamp back a wave of tears, she clenched her jaw, which made her voice short and clipped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Pleading the fifth, huh? Well, you’d never make it in the spotlight.” Matt sprinkled salt on his fries. “Because the public thinks that everything is their business. And, once it’s out there, whether you like it or not, the fodder is held as true.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to pray over my food now.”

“Well, don’t let me stand in your way. Go right ahead.”

Laila bowed her head and did her best to murmur a quick prayer. When she lifted her gaze, she said, “As I mentioned before, this line of conversation’s over.” 

Matt’s blue eyes captured hers, held. In them, she saw an ember of fury laced with a hint of challenge.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, Laila, I can feel it in my bones. So, believe me when I say it’s not over.” His voice was a low and steady, giving her a window into the steel resolve that made him such a force on the ice. “No, sweetheart, this is just a first period intermission.”

 

 

“What’s stuck in your craw?” Grayson asked as he rinsed the last soiled glass and loaded it into the dishwasher.

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re pacing around, slamming cabinets, and muttering under your breath. And, did you just cuss? I think I heard you cuss.”

“Nice try, but no. Your slips stay in the cup—all five of them.”

“Five, oh man.” He closed the dishwasher and jabbed a few buttons to program the cycle, then set it to run. “So, what gives?”

“Just a rough day at the office.”

“What office? You don’t have an office.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Gray.”

“Oh, right.” Deke loped into the kitchen, wove a figure eight around Matt’s feet, and then stretched his hind legs before curling up on the cushioned rug in front of the sink. Gray stooped to stroke his fur. “He likes you.”

Matt offered a wry grin. “That makes one person…um, I mean, cat.”

“I like you too—today, at least.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“Just kidding.” Gray lobbed a paper towel at the trashcan, then followed with a fist-pump as the wad coasted neatly in. “I like you all the time…well, almost all the time.”

“I suppose I can’t have everything.”

“You want a slice of pizza? I ordered it for dinner.” Gray slid the box across the table toward Matt. “Thanks for leaving money.”

“You’re welcome, and no thanks. My stomach’s not feeling quite up to par.”

“Stress will do that to you.” Gray flipped open the box, snatched a slice. “Was Miss Peterson at the school? Did you get your homework turned in?”

“Yes, and yes.” Matt rubbed a hand over his gut. “We grabbed something to eat at McCabe’s diner.”

“Like a date?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. Things didn’t go so well.”

“Losing your touch, huh?”

“What does that mean?”

“Hang on a sec, and I’ll show you how it goes.” Gray threw open the doors to the balcony, stepped over to the rail and leaned toward the greenway, four stories below.

“What on earth are you doing?” Matt eased in beside him and followed Gray’s line of vision until he connected with a girl ambling along the trail. Dark hair that was gathered into a sun-kissed ponytail spilled over her shoulders.

“She’s come by here the same time the past few afternoons, and she’s hot.” Gray lifted a pair of fingers to his mouth and whistled in an earsplitting shriek. When the girl paused to glance up, he shouted, “Hey, you’re hot!”

Her single-finger response would have cost a slip—maybe even two—to the cup. Instead, Matt grabbed Gray by the shirt collar and yanked him back into the living room, slamming the door behind him.

“Is this what you’ve spent your time doing today? Is it why the spare room isn’t cleaned and you still have six chapters to read in the book you were assigned?” He released Gray, and the boy collapsed onto the sofa. “Put another slip in the cup, Gray.”

“But I didn’t swear.”

“That kind of disrespect toward a female is just as bad as swearing. Where did you learn to act like that, for goodness sake?”

“Don’t you know, Uncle Matt?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Sure.” His wide-eyed gaze zeroed in. “I learned it from you.”

Matt raked a hand through his hair as a wave of nausea struck. He dropped onto the sofa beside Gray and gathered his thoughts with a long silence.

“Well, I’m sorry for that—and more ashamed than I can express,” he finally said. “And, as God is my witness, I promise you’ve learned the last of that sort of thing from me.”

 

 

 

Chapter 8

 

“RISE AND SHINE, CUPCAKE.” MATT switched on the overhead lights and wove his way through the living room. Empty soda cans littered the coffee table along with a half-eaten bag of chips. His temper simmered, and he tamped it down. Part of the root cause of his discontent was the mess scattered before him and the still-yet-to-be organized room down the hall. But the rest of it stemmed from the slow burn in his gut that had been ignited by Laila’s dinner observations.  It pained him to consider the truth in her words. Sure, he hadn’t encouraged the women who pursued him but he also hadn’t, until yesterday, ever turned one of them away, either.

The fact that Laila had witnessed the entire exchange left him feeling off-kilter. It bothered him, and he didn’t like the feeling—not one bit. He’d have something more to say to her about it today, when the dust settled from the term’s opening. He’d give her that much…time to tackle the pressures of opening day and ease into a routine. But then the conversation was on. He didn’t like loose ends, preferred everything tied up nice and neat. Not that there was any chance of nice and neat happening soon, what with Gray sprawled on the couch, Kara a mess, bad publicity swirling, and the terms of his contract up in the air.

He checked his temper, considering the devotional he’d finished devouring just before nodding off last night.

“A hot-tempered man stirs up dissension, but a patient man calms a quarrel.” Proverbs 15:18, or was it twenty-eight? Matt racked his brain to remember. No matter, the words were what counted.

“Have you lost your mind?” Gray groaned and squirmed on the couch like a small mountain come to life. “It’s still darker than a tunnel out.”

Forget where the verse came from. The devotion’s author probably never had a sullen fifteen-year-old dropped on his doorstep. Or, maybe he had. Matt drew a ragged breath. Hot-tempered or patient…which would he choose today, in this situation? He poked Gray in the ribs, careful to keep his tone light but firm. “That means it’s the perfect time to put hay in the barn.”

“What…hay?” Gray rolled over, lost his balance at the edge of the couch, and tumbled. A thunderous crash shook the coffee table as he spilled against the wood floor. His elbow took the brunt of the fall, and he let loose a string of oaths.

“Another slip in the cup, two now and…wow, it took you more than seventy-two hours, but you went for the hat trick, after all.” Matt grabbed Gray’s sketch book and tore a piece of paper from the binding. He shredded it into three thin slips, tossed them into the cuss cup that sat on the pass-through counter between the living room and the kitchen. “Keep this up and I may never have to replace your phone.”

“Hey, that shouldn’t count. You woke me up from a dead sleep. I don’t even know what planet I’m on and this floor is hard.” Gray massaged his elbow with a grimace. “I think I might have broken something. What time is it?”

“Five-fifteen.”

“AM?”

“That’s right.”

“No way.” Gray dragged the hem of his T-shirt up and over his face to shield his eyes. “Turn off the lights. School doesn’t start for over two-and-a-half hours.”

“Two hours. There’s an orientation at seven-thirty this morning, remember?”

“I’m trying to forget.”

“Not gonna happen. Now, haul yourself up before you make us late.”

“Just leave me here and let me sleep.” Gray rolled over on the floor, pulling a blanket over his head. “I feel like I just closed my eyes.”

“You shouldn’t have stayed up so late, glued to the TV.” Matt pulled the blanket from his nephew, wadded it and tossed it onto the couch. “Did you finish reading that book?”

“I just have one more chapter.”

“Gray…”

“I’ll finish in the car.”

“Then you’d better grab a jacket and a change of clothes, and let’s go.”

Gray took his ball cap from the arm of the couch and tugged it over hair that had been trimmed just enough to expose his eyes. A compromise, but one both he and Matt could live with. Now, those eyes held a death glare as they zeroed in on Matt.

“Remember when I told you I liked you most of the time?”

“I take it now’s not one of those times.”

“You nailed it.” Slowly, Gray sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Matt nudged him with the toe of his tennis shoe. “Here’s your back pack. Now, shake off the dust and get moving.”

 

 

Laila filled a foam cup and dumped an extra packet of sweetener into the mix. She leaned in, sniffed, and grimaced. Matt was right about one thing—her coffee left something to be desired. Was it the brand she used, the ancient coffeemaker, or user error? She sipped, grimaced, and left the cup sitting on the desk.

It was no use trying to eat or drink anything now anyway, with the way her stomach was tied into knots. No matter how many terms she launched at Second Chances, it was always this way on the first morning of a new session. A new session meant new kids, new problems, and a whole new set of worries. What if she couldn’t manage it all? What if she failed?

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13 came to mind and just like that, the knot in her stomach loosed. She still didn’t want the coffee, but at least she could breathe.

A quick rap on the door sounded, and Darla bustled into the office. Sleek, black hair skimmed her shoulders in a waterfall of silk. Laila wondered how the woman managed to keep her trim figure following the birth of four children.

“I found this on the floor in the hallway.” Darla waved the small slip of green and white paper that had arrived in Laila’s mail box late last week. “You must have dropped it.”

“Thanks.” Laila patted her pockets, wondering how she could have let it get loose. She took the square and tucked it beneath the paperweight on her desk. “It’s probably from a company trying to sell me something Second Chances just can’t live without. If I have time during lunch, I’ll run by the post office and see what the fuss is all about.”

“Now, you know you won’t stop for lunch today.” Darla shook her head, clucking her tongue as eyes the color of faded denim zeroed in and held tight. “And even if you did happen to squeeze in a little breather you wouldn’t leave here. But you’d make me take the full hour without fail. Don’t try to deny it. I know how you operate.”

“You’re over-exaggerating.”

“I’m not and you know it. So, hand that paper back to me, and I’ll run by the post office for you at the first opportunity.”

“Really, I—”

“No arguments. Hand it over.”

“Thanks.” Laila relinquished the slip to her care. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Remember that when I request a maternity leave sometime around…say, Christmas.”

“Really? You’re…”

“Yes.” Darla splayed a palm over her belly. “Warming another little bun in the oven. If Ken and I keep up like this, we’ll have a baker’s dozen soon enough.”

“How wonderful. Congratulations.”

Laila was happy for her friend, truly joyful. But a tinge of sadness blurred the edges of that joy as she thought of the child she’d once held, if only briefly, fifteen long years ago.

 

 

Matt felt the tension leave his bones as he circled the slick ice, gaining speed with every stroke, every turn. He breathed in the cool air, reveling in the familiar, musty scent borne of the rink’s refrigeration system and grooming equipment that had seen years of use. He could almost skate blindfolded. It had been that way from the first time he stepped on the ice during a visit here at the Ice Chalet with his parents and Kara when he was only six. His dad had dabbled in the game around the minors, never making it all the way to the NHL. Yet, he understood the passion that drove Matt to work relentlessly through broken bones, bloody noses, bruises, and concussions in his pursuit to go all the way.

And all the way Matt had gone.

Had that first tiny thrill—the breathtaking thrum of his pulse that told him he’d found his life’s dream—really happened three decades ago? The ride he’d enjoyed for the better part of his life was slowing, and Matt knew the end of his career was quickly closing in.

“Uncle Matt, I finished the last chapter.” Gray broke into his thoughts, and Matt turned to find him standing at the boards near the Zamboni room, waving the infernal book Laila had assigned. 

Laila…she was a paradox, for sure. Her life’s passion appeared to be helping kids to open up, to learn to trust in themselves and those around them. Yet, she was closed tighter than a vault. He’d really blown it at dinner Saturday. Why couldn’t he seem to say the right things when he was in her presence? He’d never had that sort of problem communicating with any woman in the past—ever.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, until he met Laila, his experiences with women included less talking than…anything else.

What made her so different?

Gray drummed the boards. “Can I get on the ice now?” he asked.

“Sure. Suit up and come on.”

“Awesome.” Gray settled onto a bench and laced the skates Matt had purchased for him at the local sporting goods store, along with a stick and some thermals. “I’ll be right there.”

Matt finished his warm-up and grabbed a burlap sack from the side boards. He stroked to the blue line, dumped two-dozen pucks at his feet, and took up his stick. A round of swift strikes placed all but one into the net’s sweet spot.

“Wow, that’s so cool, Uncle Matt.” Gray skated a few tight laps around the ice before heading over to him. The kid had some ability, but it had never been refined. Seeing that caused Matt a stab of regret for what might have been. “Can I have a go at it?”

“If you retrieve them and line them up again.”

Gray did just that. “You really rent this place every week, all for yourself?”

“I do, at least during the off season—three mornings a week. Sometimes a few of the guys from the team show up, too, if they happen to be in the area. They’re all aware that I keep a standing reservation for the 5:45 slot.”

“That’s crazy early.”

“It’s what works, and coming out, sticking to some sort of routine during the off-season, keeps me in shape.” Matt helped Gray line up the pucks a few yards in front of the blue line. “I’ve done this for years. I’ve learned that if you want something bad enough, you do what it takes to make it happen.”

“I guess I’d get up early to sketch a sunrise.”

“Then you must really want it.”

“If I had lots of money like you, I’d buy a few decent sketch books and something besides markers to draw with…maybe even a desk to keep everything squared away. That would be cool.”

“It would, huh?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” He nodded as he clutched the stick, gave the first puck a tentative slap. “I asked for drawing stuff for my birthday, but I didn’t get anything like that. Mom says I should focus on something else besides drawing.”

“Like what?”

“A skill that I can eventually use to make a living.”

“Your mom means well. She just needs to do a little more career research. Tell that sort of thing to the architect that designed the Henley Street Bridge or the Riverfront greenway system.” Matt reached for his water bottle and drew a long sip. “There were lots of people who told me a kid from the southeast didn’t have a snowball’s chance to make it in the NHL.”

“But you did.”

“Yes, I made it because I didn’t listen to all the negative hype. I just worked hard and focused on the goal line. You should do the same.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good.” Matt nodded toward the net before skating back and away to give Gray plenty of room to make his shots. “But for now, that net’s waiting. Show me what you can do.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 9

 

LAILA PAUSED AS SHE ROUNDED a corner at the gym the next Friday afternoon to find Matt scaling a ladder beneath one of the basketball nets.

“What are you doing?”

“Elliot dislodged the net while putting up a slam dunk, so I’m fixing it.”

“It’s impressive that, merely five days into the term, you know all the kids by name.”

“Most of them, at least. So now you think I’m impressive, huh?” He glanced down at her, flashed a grin. “Why wouldn’t I know their names? I told you I pay attention.”

“Don’t let the compliment go to your head. But it has been nice that you’ve hung around in the afternoons to shoot a few hoops with them.”

“I’d rather play hockey, but you’re lacking something crucial around here—ice.”

“Floor hockey’s always an option.”

“Hmm…it’s a whole different animal, but maybe you’re on to something there.”

“Teamwork, right?”

“Seems you and I make a good one.” He drew the cord that formed the basketball net from his hip pocket. “Floor hockey’s a great idea. It just might work. I’ll give it some thought and draw out a plan.”

“Let me know and I’ll order the necessary equipment, have Darla work the particulars into our insurance waiver…you know, for the possibility of injuries and all that.”

“Details, details.”

“They’re a necessity in this business.” She crossed over to place a hand on the ladder frame as she eyed his crisp, red polo and dress slacks. “You’re looking awfully handsome today. What’s the occasion?”

“I had a meeting with my agent about contract negotiations and appearance schedules. Then WVLT wanted an interview, so I figured I’d give them one and clear the air about…stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, stuff.”

“Well, how did it go?”

“I’m still hammering out negotiations for a contract renewal.” Matt shrugged. “As for the interview, I’ll just have to wait and see when it airs later. The reporter did a good job, though, so it should be a positive thing. But, where the rest of the media’s concerned, you never know.”

“That’s tough.” Laila shielded her eyes from the glare of the overhead lights as she watched him weave the net back into place. “You know, maintenance can take care of that.”

“I’ve learned that maintenance around here just circles back to you.” Matt swiped a hand across his brow. “Besides, I’m simply paying my dues toward my eleven days of hard labor.”

“I see. So that’s at the root of this?” The tug of disappointment that rippled through her took her by surprise. She swallowed hard. “And when those days are completed, what happens next?”

“Time will tell.” He winked and then grinned so the dimple along his chin deepened and the furrow of scar at his hairline all but disappeared. “You might want to keep me around.”

“We’ll see.” Her smile held a hint of mischief. “Since you’re in the volunteering mood, how do you feel about chaperoning a hike to the Chimney Tops trail with me on Monday?”

“With you?”

“Well, yes…with me and half-a-dozen kids.” She nodded. “Mr. Henderson was slated to help, but he just had an emergency appendectomy, so he’s out of commission for the time being.”

“Too bad for him, but a lucky break for me. Count me in. I’m happy to spend time with you, even if it means scaling a mountain with a pack of teens in tow.”

“That’s generous of you.” A flash of heat dampened Laila’s palms, and she pressed them to the front of her skirt. Her cheeks caught fire, and she tilted her head to hide what she was sure amounted to telltale splotches of blush. Why did he get to her so easily?

“You okay?” Matt smoothed a strand of hair from her forehead. His touch, so gentle, ignited the heat to a firestorm that swept through, burning everything in its path. “Your face is flushed.”

“It’s just warm in here, and I’m feeling a little lightheaded.” Laila stepped back, fanned herself to chase away the flames. “I’ll be fine.”

“Skipped lunch again, didn’t you?”

“I…” she racked her brain to remember if indeed she had skipped the meal, and breakfast as well, as her flapping hand lifted tufts of hair around her face. Was that today, yesterday…or both. Suddenly everything was muddled.

“You have to quit doing that, Laila. With everything going on around here, all the hats you wear, you need the energy.”

“Tomorrow I’ll brown-bag it. I promise. I just have to get to the grocery store first.” She lowered her hand to her side and quickly changed the subject. “Where’s Gray?”

“He headed over to Iris’s after classes dismissed, to work on that science project and hang out. My guess is they’ll do more hanging out than work. I’ll find out when I pick him up at eight.”

“Don’t worry too much about that. Iris’s grandmother will watch them both like a hawk.”

“I know. I met Mrs. Stolzman at orientation. She seems to be pretty on-the-ball.”

“Yes. That sweet woman has helped Iris quite a bit along the way.” Laila nodded as she willed her pulse and her temperature to both return to normal. Her belly yawned, and she knew Matt was right—she needed to fill it soon. “You wouldn’t have recognized her when she entered the program eighteen months ago.”

“A mess, huh?”

“You could say that. Anyway, I’m glad Iris and Gray have hit it off.”

“She’s into drawing, like him, so I guess they have that common ground.” Matt finished threading the net along the rim, then surveyed his handiwork as he continued. “Maybe she’ll help to keep him on the straight and narrow, as far as his classwork goes.”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult. He hasn’t missed an assignment yet.” Laila drew a sheet of paper from the file she carried and waved it at Matt. “Here’s his progress report for the first week. All A’s.”

“Seriously?” Matt reached for the paper, scanned the numbers printed there. “This is great news.”

“It’s still early in the game, but this bodes well.” Laila pressed a palm to her belly as it squirmed and chattered. “You’re doing a good job with him, Matt. Only eight more weeks to go.”

“That sounds like an eternity. May I keep this?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” He folded the paper, tucked it into his back pocket. “But I don’t know if I can do two more months. I might need another cuss cup, because the one on the counter is filling up fast.”

“A what? What counter?”

“Forget it.” He waved her off. “Inside joke…well, not really a joke.”

“Speaking of eternity,” Laila stepped back as he descended the ladder. “How’s the devotional reading going?”

“You’ll be happy to know I haven’t missed a day. The little tidbits of wisdom have helped, I’ll say that much.”

“Oh? How so?”

“‘Have I not commanded you?’” Matt quoted in an exaggerated, booming voice. “‘Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.’”

“That verse is from…” Laila snapped her fingers as she mentally searched for the answer. ‚…the book of Joshua.”

“Right. And let me tell you, in the course of my hockey career I’ve been up against the fiercest opponents, battered, bruised, and knocked on my…well, you get the picture. I’ve persevered in games that stole my breath and every ounce of stamina I could muster. But I’ve never, ever truly experienced fear until my sister walked out of my condo and left Gray behind.”

“That’s, wow…” Something dislodged deep inside of Laila as she shouldered his pain. “Well, the most impressive of all.”

“My terror’s impressive? Why?”

“Because…” Laila brushed a speck of lint from his collar, letting her hand linger there. “It means you truly care.”

“I never thought of it that way, but, for what it’s worth, I do care about Gray, your school” —Matt caught her hand, squeezed gently— “and you.”

“Matt, I—” She suddenly splayed a hand to her midsection as her belly growled. She wasn’t sure if the series of somersaults were the result of her hunger or the single word…you. “Oops. Wow.”

“The monster has awakened.” Matt laughed. “What do you say we fill that cavern in your belly with dinner?”

“That’s quite the romantic proposition. But I have work to finish up here and you—”

“Laila?” Darla rushed through the door, her dark hair fanned out behind her like a midnight wave. “Oh, I’m so glad I caught you. I just found this wedged beneath my blotter. I swore I gave it to you, but this morning sickness must have frazzled a few of my brain cells. I’m so sorry.”

“What is it?”

“That letter, the one I promised to pick up from the post office. I went on Tuesday to get it, and meant to give it to you right away. But now it’s Friday, and I completely forgot. Oh, I hope I haven’t messed up royally.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. I told you it’s most likely been sent by a persistent salesman.”

“I’m not so sure.” She waved the crisp legal-sized envelope, addressed by hand. “It looks personal.”

“Most businesses these days are experts at making things appear personal. No worries at all. Forget about it. You look positively pooped.” Laila took the envelope and, without giving it a second glance, tucked it into her skirt pocket. “You head on home now and put your feet up. And don’t you even think of tackling any of that paperwork this weekend.”

“But—”

“You heard me. It will hold ’til Monday morning. Now, scoot.”

“If you say so, boss.” Darla turned to Matt. “I’ll agree to put my feet up if you agree to see that she eats a decent meal before she faints on her feet.”

“I’ll do my best, but you know better than I just how stubborn and—” He tapped the side of his head “—pigheaded she can be.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Darla saluted and turned to leave. “Good luck, Matt. Have a great weekend, both of you.”

When she left, Laila turned back to Matt with a smirk. “So, you think I’m pigheaded, do you?”

“Just stating the cold, hard truth.” He grinned and winked. “I find it endearing.”

“In that case, your dinner offer sounds just perfect.”

 

 

“This is fancy.” Laila gazed across the table at Matt. Candlelight flickered over her face, bringing out the warm color of her eyes and golden highlights along the wave of hair that skimmed her forehead. “It’s really too much.”

“It’s just right.” Matt inched his hand across the linen-covered tabletop and slipped his fingers alongside hers. “Surviving a full week with your group of minions deserves some kind of reward.”

“I think, actually, that they deserve some kind of reward for surviving a week with me.”

“Well,” Matt linked his fingers with hers. “That’s true, too. You do have a way of taking them to task, holding them accountable. I’m sure most of the kids have never been challenged to such high standards.”

“It’s only because I know they can rise to the challenge.”

“Of course.” He squeezed her fingers ever-so-gently. “Is your steak okay?”

“It’s delicious.” Laila used her free hand to lift her fork and skewer a piece from the plate. “And the bread. Oh—my—goodness.”

“Would you like some wine with dessert?”

“No, thanks. I don’t drink alcohol. I have a low tolerance and, well, I like to keep all my faculties intact.”

“Do you think I’ll try to take advantage of you?”

“No, of course not. Would you?” Laila drew her hand from his and splayed it across her forehead. “Oh, strike that. I know you wouldn’t do such a thing. This is coming out all wrong. I’m giving you the wrong impression.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“How could you…understand, I mean?”

“I have spider senses. They’re tingling, homing in on the heart of the matter.” He captured her hand once more, twined his fingers with hers to shelter. “But I’d like to say something, make one thing perfectly clear. I’m attracted to you in a way, well, that’s completely foreign to me. When we talk…when you laugh…it means something. I know, if I kissed you right now, it would be completely and utterly amazing. But I won’t.”

“You won’t?”

“No.” He squeezed her fingers ever-so-gently. “I’ll wait for the kiss, Laila…wait until you’re ready, until that simple, emotional touch will be just as wonderful for you.”

“That’s…” She gave her head a little shake. “So sweet. So…perfect. It makes me want to…”

“Kiss me?”

“Yes.”

“Not yet.” Matt brushed the pad of his thumb down her cheek, along her jaw. “It’s clear we’re headed in that direction, yes. But not yet.”

The server approached, carrying a bowl of warm apple crisp topped with vanilla bean ice cream. The aroma of cinnamon filled the air as she placed the dessert in the center of the table, adding a pair of spoons to the mix. “Here you go, Mr. Bennett, compliments of the house. Enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

“Wow, yum.” Laila’s eyes, their color a mirror of the apple crisp, widened. “I don’t know where I’m going to put it, but, for this treat, I’ll find some room.”

Matt handed her a spoon. “Dig in.”

“I believe I will.”

As they polished off the last bite together, Matt’s cell phone vibrated. “Sorry.” He delved into his pocket. “I’d better check this. It might be Gray.”

“Of course. Go right ahead.”

He lifted the phone, scanned caller ID, and recognized the number as Mrs. Stolzman’s.

“Hello?”

“Uncle Matt, it’s Gray.” His voice, a bit breathless, rushed over the line.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Can I stay here at Iris’s ’til nine? We need a little more time to finish up our project.”

“Have you asked Mrs. Stolzman if it’s all right?”

“Yes. She’s fine with it.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“Just a sec.” Static ensued as the phone changed hands.

“Mr. Bennett? This is Emily Stolzman. How are you?”

“Just fine, thanks. Gray asked to stay a bit longer. Is this okay with you?”

“Oh, yes, it’s just fine. He and my Iris are working hard. They’re right here, at the kitchen table, writing up the report. No mischief here, Mr. Bennett. I assure you I’m watching everything through a magnifying glass.”

Matt pictured Gray rolling his eyes at that statement, but was thankful Mrs. Stolzman appeared to be vigilant. With Gray, one never knew.

“I’ll swing by at nine then, to pick up Gray.”

“Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll tell Grayson. We’ll see you then.”

When he disconnected, Matt lifted his gaze to Laila. She was so lovely, her smile a shimmer of light. He wasn’t quite ready yet to say goodnight. “We just got a slight reprieve. How’d you like to take a walk along the riverfront and watch the sunset?”

She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin and then placed it on the table before reaching for her purse. “I’d love to.”  

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

THEY WALKED A WHILE, CROSSING a short footbridge as they wound their way past Calhoun’s on the River, where soft dinner music spilled over the pavement. At this post-dinner hour, only a smattering of cars remained in the parking lot and patrons were scarce. Matt took Laila’s hand in his when they reached a trio of porch swings that faced the river. He slipped into the first one, bringing her with him.

“It’s beautiful, Matt.” Laila eased in beside him and together they gazed toward the sun-dappled water. Fingers of warm magenta light lengthened and swirled as the sun kissed the horizon good night. “I’ve lived here for years but I’ve rarely taken the time to come here…to just enjoy. It’s almost a crime to let something as beautiful as this go unappreciated.”

“Life gets in the way, doesn’t it?”

“You could say that.”

“And as for your take on the riverfront, I could say the same about you.”

“Really? How so?”

“How is it that a woman as beautiful, witty, honest, and charming as you hasn’t already been snatched up by a man? Why isn’t there a ring on your finger?”

“Why isn’t there one on yours?”

“I haven’t had the luck to find the right woman.”

“I don’t think it’s so much luck as…awareness and timing.” Laila sighed. “I suppose that sounds awfully boring and unromantic to someone like you, who has experienced more than his fair share of…romance.”

“I wouldn’t call what I’ve experienced romance, Laila. And, for the record, I’m not proud of my past.” He skimmed her jawline with the pad of his thumb. “I’ve made mistakes, plenty of them, and could fill a warehouse with poor choices. But something inside…in here”— He pressed a palm to his chest— “has shifted more than a few degrees. I’m not that guy anymore, the one who lives in the moment with no regard for the future, for consequences that might adversely affect his future, or the future of those he cares for.”

“Then what kind of man are you?”

“One who’s attracted to you, and not just for that.”

“Well,” Laila’s laugh was shaky. “I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment…or an insult.”

“Trust me, it’s a compliment.”

The wind whispered, carrying the light citrus scent of magnolias in bloom along the walk. Willows danced whimsically at the shore, and the steady cadence of a paddlewheel signaled the Star of Knoxville’s return from a sightseeing cruise.  Matt set the swing into motion and smiled as Laila lifted her feet and allowed her head to relax against his shoulder. Her auburn hair, kissed by rays of the setting sun, tickled his bicep.

“What made you want to play hockey?” she murmured as she shifted in the seat, leaning into him. “All that slamming into each other, hitting each other over the head with sticks, broken noses, blood…”

“We don’t hit over the head—at least not when the refs are looking.” A mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “And the sport so much more than that. The speed and adrenaline rush, the sound of blades skimming over the ice, the smell of the arena, the crowd…” The grin faded as he sighed. “I was six when I picked up my first stick, skated around with my dad down the street at the Ice Chalet. He helped coach the Knoxville Cherokees back in the eighties, before they morphed into the Ice Bears. The first time he laid a stick in my hands and I took off with it, circling the ice like a miniature tornado on speed, all I can say is, wow. I got this feeling…I can’t even begin to describe it. I was hooked from the get-go and from that point there was no turning back. Dad had unleashed a monster. I lived, breathed and ate hockey.”

“Your poor mom, I feel for her.” Laila sat up, turned to him. “I’m sure your history of bumps and bruises and broken bones is prolific. How did you get this scar?”

“That was my first major concussion. I did battle with the boards and lost.”

“First? How many have there been?”

“Enough to sideline me and splay me beneath the coach’s microscope. I may have just played my final season.”

“I’m so sorry, Matt.”

“I’m not.” Matt realized, for the first time, that the words he said rang true. “It’s been a good run and maybe it’s time to hang up my skates and exit the ice with my self-respect intact. You know the passage that reads, ‘For everything there is a season…?’”

“From Ecclesiastes.”

“Yes, that’s right. Well, maybe it’s just time for me to enter into a new season.”

“New seasons can be interesting, exciting, fulfilling.” Laila leaned in, brushed her lips over the ridge of scar along his hairline. “Does that help?”

“You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

Music drifted from a nearby restaurant…something slow with a mellow sound that Matt found vaguely familiar.

“I like this song.” Laila leaned back, slipped her hand into his once again. “Do you know it?”

“I think I do.” He pressed Laila’s fingertips to his lips. “Have you ever danced beneath the moonlight?”

“I can’t say I have.” Her lips curved into a playful smile. “And you?”

“Not until now, here…” He tugged her gently to her feet. “With you.”

 

 

Laila sighed as Matt drew her close. She pressed her chin to his shoulder as he eased into a slow dance. Their movements matched the dappled current of the river as it lapped against the rocky shore. “This is…crazy, Matt,” she murmured.

“No, this is just right.”

“People are watching.” She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of him…pine and soap wrapped with pure masculinity. “They’ll think we’ve lost our minds.”

“I can’t think of a better person to lose my mind with, than you.” He placed a hand along the small of her back, eased her closer. “Relax, Laila. I promise I won’t bite.”

“It’s not you biting me that frightens me.”

“Then, what is it?”

“The truth? Despite your rough-around-the-edges packaging, I know there’s something sensitive, caring, and compassionate lurking inside here.” She smoothed a hand over his chest, pausing at his heart. Beneath the fabric, she felt its steady, sure cadence. “And, despite doing my best to chase away the feeling, I like you, Matt…way too much for my own good.”

“I’d say that bodes well for me.”

“But not so much for me.”

“What happened, Laila, that has made you so guarded, so cynical of romance?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I really do. And, whoever the guy is who yanked your heart out, stomped on it, and returned it to you in broken pieces…I’d really like to get my hands on him.”

“Don’t go there, Matt. Not tonight. Not like this. Everything is so perfect. The sunset, the water…you. I don’t want to spoil any of it with bad memories.”

“Fair enough. But you’ll bring me up to speed soon, right?”

“I…yes.”

“In the meantime, just tell me one thing, Laila…how deep does it run, your aversion to falling in love?”

“It depends on how deep the man’s aversion runs to reciprocating that emotion.”

“In that case, I just might surprise you, sweetheart.” He dipped her, captured her gaze with his, and murmured, “Yes, I very well may give you the surprise of your life.”

They danced until the sunlight faded to black and stars winked overhead in a soft expanse of velvet.

 “It must be almost nine,” Laila finally said. “Gray will be waiting on you at the Stolzman’s.”

“You’re right.” Reluctantly, he released her. “We’d better head back to the school, and your car.” He took her hand, started down the walk. “Can we do this again…soon?”

“I’d like that.”

“Pencil me in for next Saturday?”

“I’ll have to check my social calendar.” She grinned at him. “But I’m sure I can squeeze you in somewhere.”

“Hand me your phone.”

She did and he punched in his number, and then hit SEND so he had hers as well.

“In case you need me between now and then.”

“Thanks, Matt. That’s sweet.” When they neared his SUV, she waited while he opened the passenger door for her. “And thanks for offering to pinch hit Monday when we hike the Chimney Tops trail. I really needed a male chaperone after Mr. Henderson got sidetracked with that appendix attack.”

“I’m glad to help out.”

“Just ticking off those volunteer days, right?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m jockeying to spend more time with you. And the fact that it allows me to keep close tabs on Gray is simply an added bonus.”

“Have you ever hiked the Chimney’s, Matt?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Well,” she grinned. “You may not think I’m worth the effort about halfway into the first mile.”

“Oh, I think you’re worth every bit of the effort, and then some.” He revved the engine and merged into traffic. “And I’ve been playing hockey for nearly three decades, so scaling a mountain is sure to be a piece of cake.”

“We’ll see.” Laila’s laughter rang out as they coasted through the quick trip back to the school’s parking lot, less than two miles down the road. All the while, Matt held her hand with one of his while he navigated the few turns with his other. Not the most responsible way to travel, but she was loath to break contact. Security lights cast a glow over the freshly-blacktopped parking lot of the school as Matt sidled his SUV up to her car. He surprised Laila by killing the engine and slipping from the driver’s seat to grab her passenger door and hold it open while she exited.

“No music, but we can still dance a bit more if you’d like.” His breath was warm on her cheek as he spoke.

“Grayson…it’s almost nine.”

“Right…Gray.” Matt took her keys and turned to unlock the door of her sedan. “I promised Mrs. Stolzman.”

“Yes, you did.”

“And I can’t—I shouldn’t—break my promise.”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“So, I guess we’ll have to say goodbye…for now.” He drew her close. “With spoken words, unless you care to use…another form of language.”

“I might be persuaded.”

“Is the vault cracking?”

“What vault?”

“The one that’s locked away your heart.”

“Oh, that one.” She tilted her chin and watched the moonlight dance in his eyes. “Matt…I think you may have found the key.”

He dipped in, brushed his lips against hers with a gentleness that not only released her heart, but sent it soaring. As his hands, strong and sure, fisted through her hair, her pulse faltered while the ground tumbled beneath her feet.

“You’re lovely, Laila.” He eased back to look at her. “Tough, opinionated, and headstrong, yet witty, kind and generous. Not to mention, soft as a rose petal and you smell delicious…yes, absolutely lovely beyond measure.”

“Are you sure you didn’t indulge in wine at dinner?”

“Not a sip.” He brushed the hair from her forehead, skimming the finger trail with his lips before reaching behind her to unlatch the door. “I’ll follow you out, make sure you’re safe.”

“I can take care of myself, Matt.”

“I know you can.” He opened the door for her. “Indulge me anyway.”

“Thank you.” She pressed a hand to his chest as she planted a kiss along his stubbled jaw. “Thank you for a wonderful evening…and an amazing kiss.”

“So, I’ve earned your stamp of approval?”

“And then some.”

 

 

 

Chapter 11

 

LAILA SETTLED IN AT THE kitchen table with a cup of coffee and next week’s schedule for Second Chances. Monday, the day hike along the Chimneys was slated as a go since Matt had agreed to help out, while the rest of the week was penciled in with classwork as usual. She was thankful for the ease in scheduling; last week had taken its toll.

Her cell phone chimed. Could it be Matt, phoning about the wonderful time they’d shared last night? She’d hardly managed to sleep as thoughts of their tender dance swept through her head. She had to admit, he was so much more than she’d expected. The phone chimed again and she glanced at caller ID, hopeful.

No luck. The incoming call was from Darla. Laila engaged the call and was immediately greeted with little Ava’s squealing.

“What’s going on, a mutiny?” Laila nearly shouted over the chaos so Darla might hear. “Sounds like your little curly-top is not a happy camper at the moment.”

“She’s warming the time-out chair.”

“What’s the infraction?”

“A toast and jam grenade launched into her brother’s hair.”

“Oh, wow. Yeah, I suppose that’s cause for a timeout, for sure.”

“Actually, I’m the one who needs a time-out, but Ken’s in the front yard mowing the lawn. We flipped a coin, he won, and I got breakfast and sprinkler duty with the munchkins while he gets a little respite in the sun.”

“I’m glad he won, then. You shouldn’t be mowing. You’re supposed to be resting.” Laila waggled a finger, though Darla couldn’t see.

“Rest is a four-letter word around here. Ava will settle down soon enough, and then we’ll have a little mommy-daughter chat on the finer points of eating your toast instead of using it for brother’s shampoo.”

“That’s…creative.” Laila’s laughter bubbled up. Darla’s calls never failed to amuse her, and offered a unique glimpse into life in another universe.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to scrub it out of Levi’s hair.” She sighed. “Anyway, tell me about the letter.”

“The letter?”

“You know…a green slip, a signature, and my frazzled brain cells neglecting to hand it over to you in a timely manner.”

“Oh, that letter.” Instinctively, Laila rose and reached for her jacket. “You must not be the only one frazzled, because I forgot all about it until you just mentioned it. I went out after I left school last night, and the envelope’s still tucked in my pocket.”

“You went out? Where? Why? With whom?” The words shot like machine gun fire. “I want details.”

“Coffee, you’ve had too much coffee…” Laila clucked her tongue. “You really have to lay off the stuff.”

“I’m down to one cup a day, thank-you-very-much, per doctor’s orders through this pregnancy. And, as an aside, the deprivation is killing me.” She groaned. “Now, quit diverting and spill the details.”

“Matthew Bennett asked me to dinner.”

“Mr. Hockey…tall, dark, handsome and then some?”

“Yes. And I’ll admit he’s easy on the eyes. We went to the steakhouse out by the riverfront, then for a walk along the water.”

“And…”

“We watched the sunset.” She smiled at the memory. “And we danced along the shore of the riverfront. It was…really nice, almost magical.”

“I’ll bet it was. Oh my goodness. How romantic! You went to the nicest steakhouse in the county and then indulged in a moonlight dance along the star-dappled river.” Her delighted sigh shook the phone line. “Did he kiss you? Tell me he kissed you.”

“Darla!”

“He did, didn’t he? Goodness. It must have been something special to make you forget all about the letter.”

“I’ll open the confounded thing right now if it’ll make you happy.”

“It would, but Ava’s timeout buzzer just dinged. I’ll have to call you back.” She laughed. “Hot dog, Laila, but I’m happy for you. Keep me posted, okay?”

“Will do. Give Ava a hug for me and tell her that Auntie Laila loves her very much, and I’ll see her soon.”

“Don’t let her fool you with that angelic smile and the waterfall of golden curls. She’s got a mean streak a mile wide when she sets her mind to it. Just ask Levi, who’s scraping grape jelly from his hair as we speak.”

“Oh, that sounds awful…and messy. But I love the mischievous little munchkin to pieces anyway.”

“Thanks. I’ll relay the message. You dive into that letter now. It might be something important.”

“I’m on it. You go tame the masses, try to rest a bit, and we’ll catch up when the dust settles.”

After disconnecting, Laila crossed the kitchen to grab her jacket and fumbled for the letter. Settling back into her chair at the table, she drew a sip of coffee before slipping a finger beneath the envelope’s flap to loosen it. A wallet-sized photo slipped from the fold of paper she found inside. Laila turned it over and gasped as a girl—the mirror image of her at the age of fifteen— stared back at her.

It couldn’t be.

It was.

Her daughter.

 

 

“Uncle Matt, I finished clearing the spare room and cleaning it up.” Gray strode into the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator door. He pulled a can of soda from the shelf. “What now?”

“I’ll take a look at it, and if you pass muster, I suppose we’ll head to West Knoxville and buy you a bed and all the trimmings.”

“Cool.” Gray popped the soda lid and guzzled. He swiped his mouth on his sleeve. “And a phone, too?”

“I think you’re still about three weeks out on that.” Matt noted the clear, plastic cup propped on the passthrough, stuffed with torn slips of paper. “Yeah, at least three weeks.”

“I’ll probably never see another cell phone again, not to mention a laptop. I really should get one of those for my homework projects and stuff, so I can access the Internet. Research, you know.

“Nice try, but no dice. If you need to search the Internet, the desktop in the living room works just fine.”

“Not with you breathing over my shoulder. You can see everything I’m doing.”

“That’s the point.”

“Maybe I should contact the ACLU, see if they can help me get some rights around here.”

“You do that. Let me know how it turns out.” Matt set down the devotional he’d been reading, grateful more than ever for today’s passage on patience. “In the meantime, grab that bag of trash. You can haul it to the dumpster on our way to the parking garage.”

“Do you mind if I run down to the riverfront first, just for a few minutes?” Gray glanced through the balcony door to the walk below. “There’s something I have to take care of.”

“And what might that something be?”

“Remember that girl, the one I catcalled last week from the balcony?”

“Of course, I remember. Your indiscretion cost you three slips, if I remember correctly, and is a large part of the reason there will be no new phone today.”

“Yeah, I know. Well, I ran into her again on Thursday while I was hanging out down there, sketching. I was feeling a little guilty about what I did, so I took a chance and apologized for acting like such a jerk. I thought she’d wallop me, but instead she did the craziest thing. She said, ‘That’s so sweet.’” He mimicked a slightly nasal female voice for emphasis. “Then she asked if I’d show her my sketches. Go figure.”

“You did a good thing, Gray. You’re learning.”

“She liked my drawings, and I promised to do one for her. I see her down there now so, can I head that way?”

“I suppose that’s okay, but only to the riverfront, where I can see you, and be back up here within the hour.”

Gray rolled his eyes but conceded, “I will. I promise.”

“Okay, then. Have fun.”

“Thanks. You’re the best, Uncle Matt.”

“At least for the moment, right?”

“Yep. I guess I’m not the only one who’s learning how things work around here.” Gray laughed as he grabbed his sketch book from the coffee table. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. You can ask me anything.”

He glanced at Matt’s dog-eared devotional that sat open-faced on the coffee table. “Do you think we can go to church tomorrow. There are lots of them around here. Surely we can find one that’s not all mumbo-jumbo.”

“Gray, I’m sorry I ever said that. It was wrong of me.” He grimaced. “Of course, we can go to church. I think it’s a great idea. I’ll do a little research while you’re on the riverfront, okay, and find one for us.”

“Thanks. And, for the record, I think you’re pretty great all the time, even if I’m not getting a new phone for another gazillion years.”

“My heart is thoroughly warmed.”

“Good.” Gray’s laughter echoed off the walls as he grabbed his sketch book and headed for the elevator. “I’ll be back soon.”

Matt reached for his phone and was about to dial Laila’s number when it vibrated, alerting an incoming call. He connected and was immediately assaulted by Kara’s distressed, high-pitched whine.

“You didn’t send Gray’s latest grade and attendance report,” she quickly accused.

“I got caught up yesterday, Kara, and didn’t have a chance. Besides, you don’t need it until Monday.”

“No point waiting until the last minute.” She paused, and Matt imagined her gnawing on one of her nails as she plotted her next move. “How’s he doing?”

“Good. Great, actually.”

“Not driving you crazy yet?”

“It hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing, but we’re managing all right.”

“Give it time. He’ll wear you down.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m pretty tough.”

Her voice hitched up another notch. “You saying I’m not?”

“No. I didn’t mean that at all.”

“That report can’t be late to the court,” she circled back.

“I realize that.” Matt loped into the kitchen and filled his mug with coffee. “Tell you what, give me the number and I’ll fax it to them directly, myself.”

“Can I trust you to get it done?”

Silence. He let the veiled accusation slide.

“Okay, sure.” Kara picked up the thread. “But you’d better not forget.”

“I won’t.” Exasperation broke through. “I’ll do it as soon as we hang up.”

“So now you’re trying to hurry me away?”

“I didn’t say that. Good grief, Kara, what has you so worked up this morning?”

“You wouldn’t care.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t care.”

“Fine.”

“Yeah, well…” Another pause as she circled around the real reason for the call. “I need some money, Matt.”

“For what? I sent you plenty of money to cover Gray’s fine and the court costs.”

“I used some of that for rent. I was a little behind. So now I need more. The school rep called again today and they want their payment for damages or it’s going to get ugly.”

“Give me the direct number there with a name and address so I can speak to the person in charge, and then forward a check. I’ll take care of that, too.”

“So now you don’t trust me to pay my own bills?”

“I didn’t say that, either. But now that you mention it…” Matt simply sighed and swallowed the rest of his words. They’d serve no purpose but to further incite her. “When are you coming to see Gray?”

“Has he asked about me?” Her tone gave no indication whether she cared or not about the direction of his answer.

“Of course, he has.” The little white lie wouldn’t harm, would it?

“Well, neither of you has bothered to call.”

“We’ve been busy with school work and other things, so…”

“Well, I’ve been busy too, working overtime and trying to get ahead of the bills. Gas money is hard to come by.”

“Maybe you should look for a new job, something with more substantial pay and better hours.”

“Easy for you to say, when you’re rolling in the dough. If Gray came back, he could get a job at the pizza place or the gas station, and help with the bills. He is fifteen now.”

“That’s not an option.” Just the idea of such a thing sent Matt’s stomach roiling. “He’s going to complete the term here. How much more cash do you need?”

“A couple hundred. Five would be good, more if you’re feeling generous.”

“I’ll put a check in the mail tomorrow. I have to go now. Take care, Kara.”

After disconnecting, he drew a deep breath and tucked the phone into his pocket. The devotional sat on the coffee table, where he’d left it last night. He reached for it, flipped open to a page he’d carefully dog-eared. Today might be a good day to read an extra passage or two.

 

 

 

Chapter 12

 

“OH GOD, OH GOD.” THE prayer bubbled from deep in Laila’s soul as she sat in the church pew Sunday morning with the soft lullaby of organ music washing over her. “What have I done? What will I do?” She bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut tight as the tears came. She hoped no one noticed the way her shoulders shook, or the disarray of her hair and clothing. She’d barely slept a moment last night as the image of her daughter, beautiful as sunshine and smiling with the brilliance of a rainbow, danced through her mind. Her daughter was happy, and that mattered most.

I made the right choice, painful as it was. I made the right choice.

The photo was now burned into her mind and her heart. Juliette wore the silver heart pendant Laila had handed to the nurse the day the child was taken from her.

Laila thought of her innocent plea, “Please, give this to her…mother. Please ask her to give it to…to give it to Juliette when she’s old enough to wear it.”

Juliette…she’d named her daughter Juliette and the adoptive parents had honored that by keeping it intact. Now, the child’s name rolled off her tongue sweet as honey.

Juliette.

The silver pendant had belonged to Laila’s great-grandmother, then her grandmother and mother before it came into her possession upon her graduation from high school. A family tradition, and something to connect her daughter to her. To see the child wearing it, to consider the depth of love, the confidence her adoptive parents shared, to hand it to her, to send the letter. Laila could barely comprehend the measure of such love.

Now, she faced a choice that promised to irrevocably change her life, and the lives of all concerned. No matter—

“Laila, are you okay?” Mrs. Baker wrapped an arm around Laila’s shoulders as she glided into the pew. Laila froze for a moment and struggled to steady her breathing. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing the tangled strands as she slowly turned to face the sweet, elderly woman.

“I’m a little out of sorts.” Her voice, strained and dry, was barely more than a string of raspy grunts. “Just tired. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Mrs. Baker’s gaze narrowed as her rheumy gray eyes drank in Laila’s disheveled hair and what Laila could only assume, since she’d fled the house that morning without applying even a hint of foundation or a touch of blush, were ghostly-pale cheeks.

“Is everything okay over at the school?”

“Yes. Everything’s great there.” Laila pinched at her cheeks, hoping to bring a bit of color to them. “The students have settled in and we have some wonderful volunteers this semester.”

“It’s not that hockey player…” Mrs. Baker looked up and over Laila’s shoulder, motioning toward the back of the sanctuary. “Matt Bennett? I heard his nephew’s enrolled at the school. Hotshot athlete like that, with a big name and money to flash around, he’s not giving you trouble, is he?”

“No! Of course not. It’s not Matt at all.” The thought of his kindness, the meal and tender kiss they’d shared, took the edge off her distress. “He’s been so kind…perfect. And he helps out at the school more than any of the other parents. He’s…wonderful.”

“That’s good to know, because he just walked in.”

Laila turned and gasped when she saw Matt and Gray slip into the very last pew toward the rear of the sanctuary. Part of her heart sang to see him, especially here where she knew he belonged. The other part seized with fear that he might spot her and notice she wasn’t feeling quite…right this morning.

She didn’t know if she’d ever feel right again.

Worry strangled her thoughts. What would Matt think when he discovered the truth about her. She’d been so hard on him since they’d first met, overlooking her own faults in the process. Perhaps it was time to come clean with him, even if it meant the end of any chance of a future together.

A future together? Where had that thought sprung from?

Now that the thought had come to life, she realized how much she yearned for such a thing.

Laila fisted her hand and pressed whitened knuckles to her lips, remembering the tender brush of Matt’s kiss, the way they’d danced beneath the moonlight. Had she ever experienced such a beautiful evening?  She probably never would again. As the realization slammed her like a freight train, her belly tumbled. She fought off a wave of nausea.

“I should go, Mrs. Baker. I’m in no shape to be here in church today.”

“Oh, honey, don’t you fret. You just sit tight.” Mrs. Baker patted Laila’s knee and handed her a tissue. “Rest assured, whatever’s stuck in your craw will work itself out, and you’re in exactly the shape He needs you today.” 

 

 

“Look, Uncle Matt. There’s Miss Peterson.” Gray tapped Matt’s shoulder to draw his attention and then motioned through the crowd in front of them, gathered into neat rows of seats. “I hope she doesn’t ask about my homework.”

Matt smiled at the perky flash of auburn hair that shone like flames among shades of blonde and black scattered through her row of seats. He wouldn’t miss that hair anywhere…or the woman it belonged to. He’d called her yesterday afternoon, and had left a message she’d failed to return. Matt brushed it off, though a niggle of doubt nagged. She was busy—had a plate that was overflowing. Maybe she’d gone out to the school to tie up some loose ends, and prepare for Monday’s hike.

“If it was finished you wouldn’t have to worry about her asking.”

“I’ll get it done. I work best under pressure.”

“And your work habits give me an ulcer.”

Gray turned to Matt, his blue eyes widening. “Really?”

“Don’t look so shocked. I’m exaggerating…sort of.”

“But not all the way?”

“No.”

“I’ll do better then. I don’t want to make you worry.” Gray scratched his head, probably missing the ball cap that Matt had refused to let him wear this morning—at least inside the sanctuary. “Wow, there’s Iris, too. Cool. You did good with the research, Uncle Matt. I like it here. Can I go say hi to her?”

“Sure, right after the service.” Matt caught Gray’s shoulder as he rose. “There’s the pastor. Things are about to begin. You can catch up with Iris after.”

He’d have to do the same with Laila. There was no time for conversation now.

“Okay.” But Gray offered a quick wave when Iris turned his way, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile. “Maybe we can get together after the service.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

As music filled the sanctuary, Matt took up a hymnal, flipped it open to the correct page and handed it to Gray so they might follow along together. They’d made it here on time this morning, he and Gray. Against all odds they’d showered, dressed, downed slices of cold cheese pizza that only within the confines of a bachelor apartment could be considered breakfast, and somehow arrived here with a few moments to spare.

In some recess of his mind, Matt wondered what Laila would think when she saw him here. He’d had no idea, truly, that she attended this particular church. He’d merely remembered during yesterday’s research that this was the same place his dad liked to bring their family so long ago, before Matt was even old enough to read. At some point—he couldn’t recall exactly when—they’d abandoned the Sunday ritual. Matt wasn’t sure why, he only knew that from that point on something seemed to be missing from their home, and in the way his parents looked at one another.

Dad coached hockey, and was often out-of-town while Mom chauffeured Matt to and from his practices, games, and later on countless college visits. Life became a confining tunnel where hockey was all that mattered. Somewhere along the way, Kara got lost in the mix. Could that be the source of her discontent, or at least part of it?

Guilt gnawed at Matt, and he wasn’t sure why. But it lurked there, real as a heart attack. He blinked hard, tried to focus. Pastor Bingum stepped up to the pulpit, opened his Bible, and Matt shifted in the seat as he listened to the chosen passage.

“‘For everything there is a season…’” The words washed over Matt, and he closed his eyes, absorbing every nuance, every syllable. Was the heart of today’s service merely a coincidence, or was the elusive God Laila spoke of trying to tell him something…calling him home?

Confusion clawed at Matt. How could he sit here when his past was so soiled? Would a lightning bolt flash down from the ceiling, a voice boom to call him out and expose him to the crowd gathered near? Maybe God had lured him here simply to use him as an example. Or maybe his Heavenly Father had brought him here for the sake of Gray, who still had his whole future ahead. Maybe that was all there was to it.

I’m sorry, Lord, for denying you for so long. Please forgive me.

Tears burned Matt’s eyes as he lifted his gaze to the cross hanging on the wall at the front. In that moment, he knew the true reason for his presence here this morning. He may have denied God, but his Heavenly Father certainly hadn’t denied him.

“Thanks again for bringing me here today, Uncle Matt,” Gray murmured as a hymn took shape. “I feel…”

Matt simply nodded. He felt it, too.

 

 

“Laila.” Matt caught up to her as she exited into the foyer following the service. “Wait up.”

“Matt, you’re here.” The tone was cheerful, but her expression hardly matched. Her eyes were shadowed, her cheeks lacking their familiar glow. “I mean, I’m so happy you decided to give the so-called mumbo jumbo another try.”

He knew she meant it tongue-in-cheek, but the remark fell flat. Warning bells sounded in his head. Something was off…wrong…but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“It’s not mumbo jumbo. I was wrong about that.” He took her hand. “I’ve been humbled.”

“I’m glad to hear that. It’s…wonderful.” She glanced down at their joined fingers and then drew her hand back as if she’d been scorched. Her gaze darkened as her cheeks paled. “But I have to go.”

“What has you in such a hurry? Is there some sort of emergency at the school?”

She began to speak, then paused abruptly and then pressed a hand to her lips and shook her head.

“I can help you, if there is,” Matt nudged. “I don’t have any plans this afternoon—unless you count helping Gray finish his geometry homework as plans.”

The hand slid to her cheek and then down to her other hand, where her fingers laced together, taut and white-knuckled. “That’s not it. Everything at school is just fine. It’s just…I’m not feeling well.”

“No? Well, maybe you just need a bite to eat, or some ice cream.” He massaged his midsection. “A nice bowl of ice cream always makes me feel better.”

“It’s not that simple.” She took a step back, putting distance between them. “Trust me, it’s best if we don’t…” She shook her head as tears welled. “I really have to go.”

“At least let me walk you to your car.”

“That’s not necessary.” She adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder and turned toward the exit door as the crowd thinned around them. “I can make it on my own.”

“I know you can. That’s not the point.” Matt scooted ahead to hold the door for her, then hurried to catch up as a bite of temper battled with sympathy. “I know you’re tough and independent, Laila. I get that. But it’s obvious something is troubling you. You don’t have to be alone with the problem.”

“But I do.” She tugged her purse tighter as she quickened her step. “I’m not ready to share with you.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

“It may be a very long wait, Matt.”

“Okay.” He crossed his arms. “No problem.”

“Nice try, but you can’t bait me this morning. I’m just too tired to spar with you.”

“I’m not trying to bait you.” Maybe he was, just a little bit, in an attempt to find a spark. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here. Last night—”

“Was absolutely wonderful.” The tears came then, big sloppy tears that trailed down both cheeks.

Matt’s heart lurched. “Then I don’t—”

“Let it go, Matt. Let me go.” She swiped at her eyes, as if removing the tears would also erase whatever it was that had her so worked up.

“I don’t give up that easily, sweetheart.”

“Well, you should.” She sidestepped away, and then turned to sprint across the parking lot.

“Wait.” Matt caught up to her as she neared the driver’s door of her car. He used his best hockey moves to block her as she drew the ignition key from her purse. “I said, wait, Laila.”

“Move, please.”

“Why are you crying?” He gentled his voice. “Have I done something to upset you?”

“No. It’s nothing like that.”

“What then?” He brushed a hand across flushed skin. “Was it the kiss? Maybe it was too much, too soon.”

“No. I liked—”

“You liked it?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Me, too. So let’s see where this goes, Laila. We can take it slow, give it time. I’m not in any hurry, but we have to communicate.”

“I want…” 

“What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me and I’ll do my best to see it happens.”

That only made the tears flow harder.

“It really doesn’t matter what I want, Matt.” She sniffled as she tried to push past him. He simply juked left, then right, shadowing her. Her reflexes were no match for his years of athletic training.

“It matters to me.” He leaned in, skimmed her temple with his lips. “Whatever it is, Laila, don’t shut me out. I want to help.”

“Please…”

“Please what, sweetheart. There’s nothing you can say that will shock me. Believe me, I’ve heard it all.”

“I doubt that. This is more than you can imagine. No one can help me now, Matt.” Her tears flowed now like a river overflowing its banks. “This is something I have to figure out on my own. So please, just let me go.”  

 

 

 

Chapter 13

 

BY TUESDAY, MATT WAS OUT of his head with worry over Laila.

He’d spent the better part of Monday scaling the Chimney Tops trail with Gray’s class, sweating his behind off and listening to his muscles scream in protest as he helped the students, some with a furious fear of heights, scale the rock-faced capstone at the trail’s end to drink in a breathtaking 360 degree view of the park, including awe-inspiring Mount Le Conte. He’d endured more than a dozen trips up the rock face and back with kids clinging to him in a death grip as he coaxed them along toward a sense of accomplishment. Gray was one of the most difficult to persuade, yet when all was said and done Matt accomplished the task. He’d had no idea Gray harbored such a wicked fear of heights.

Through it all, Laila remained closed off to him. Sure, as far as the kids were concerned, she maintained business as usual, her poker-face perfected. But, as far as Matt went, to say Laila spoke a dozen words during the course of the hike was a generous estimation. And the fact that she looked as if the light had gone out of her, like she hadn’t slept in a string of days, had Matt’s emotions battling between annoyance and a serious case of concern.

So, when they returned to school following the hike, Matt decided enough was enough; it was time to clear the air between them and aim straight for the net.

After all, he’d never been one to shy away from a conflict.

He stepped up to Laila’s office door and gave the wood a quick rap.

“Laila?” He entered without waiting for a reply, and found her seated at her desk with her head bowed. Was she praying? He tiptoed over.

“Can’t this wait, Matt. I’m exhausted and in no mood to talk.”

“Is this how it’s gonna be?” He crossed the remainder of tile in a rush. “I have to play twenty questions to figure out just what’s eating at you?”

Her head snapped up, surprise swimming in her eyes.

“Well, okay. Here’s the first question—what have I done?”

“I told you, it’s not you, Matt, it’s me.”

“So that’s the route we’re taking. I’ll bite. Are you angry with me for showing up at your church yesterday? You should understand, I really had no idea you’d be there. I honestly didn’t know. If it upsets you this much, I’ll find another—”

“No, no, no. It’s not my church, Matt. The sanctuary doesn’t belong to me. And this has nothing to do with church, anyway.” She sat up and splayed her palms along the desktop. “What this is about began fifteen—no, sixteen—years ago.”

“But I didn’t even know you then.”

“I wish you had.” Tears flooded her eyes, “Oh, how I truly wish you had. How different…how wonderful things might have…” Her voice caught. “The truth is, I don’t deserve you, Matt—or a relationship with any man, for that matter. But especially not with you.”

“Sweetheart, you’re not making any sense.”

“How can I, when none of this makes sense to me?” Laila handed him an envelope.

He turned it over and studied the scrawl of writing. “What’s this?”

“Remember that green slip Darla mentioned—the notice that the post office was holding a certified letter for me?”

“Yes. We were together that day in the school gym when she mentioned getting it.”

“Right. So, open the envelope, Matt.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will soon enough. Go ahead, open it.”

Intrigued… and more than a bit wary now, considering the dark cast to her gaze, he lifted the flap. A photo escaped from the torn opening. It drifted to the floor, and Matt bent to retrieve it. Flipping it glossy-side-up, he studied the image, so familiar and yet so foreign, with curious interest.

“Who is this?” he finally asked. “She looks an awful lot like you, Laila.”

“I know.” Tears coursed down Laila’s cheeks. “That’s because she’s my daughter…she’s Juliette.”

 

 

Laila stared at Matt, gauging his expression through the blur of tears that spilled over to dampen her cheeks. “Please, say something, Matt.”

“I don’t understand. You have a daughter? How?”

She gaped at him. “Matt…”

“But you never mentioned…” He slipped into the chair across from her. “I suppose you’d better start at the beginning.”

Laila drew a breath and swiped a hand across her face. “I was a senior in high school, barely seventeen, when I…got pregnant.”

“Who, Laila?”

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is, to the length an inexperienced girl that age can imagine, I was sure I loved him and that he loved me back just as much...perhaps even more. He was a few years older, enough for me to believe he knew the ways of the world. In my naïve mind, all the signs indicated a happy forever future with him.” She paused, shook her head wearily. “Anyway, when I realized I was…expecting, I wasted no time in telling him. I was scared to death, and I just knew he’d take care of me. I was convinced he’d know exactly what to do.”

“And?”

“He was horrified. He demanded that I have an…” She shook her head. “I can’t even say the word. I refused. I couldn’t fathom such a horrible thing.”

“Oh, Laila.”

“I had nowhere to turn. When my folks finally discovered I was expecting, my mother was furious with me and my dad, well, I don’t know. He’d taken off years before, left Mom and me to fend for ourselves. Mom did her best to give me a good home, and I had scholarships waiting, a bright future ahead. But I’d just, in one single act, thrown it all away. I didn’t care. I wanted to keep the baby. But Mom convinced me to let her go, and I knew in my heart once…” She paused as her lips twisted into a scowl.  “…he left, that trying to raise her on my own would amount to a dead-end street for both of us. So, I met with a counselor and we discussed the possibility of adoption because I could never, ever even consider…”

More tears fell as her heart broke with thoughts of the unimaginable. Matt tore a handful of tissues from a nearby dispenser, passed them to her.

“When Juliette was born, I was allowed to hold her for a few moments before I had to hand her over. I begged the nurse to pass that locket you see in the photo—and a note—to the parents who’d waited months to claim her. I thought that was the end for my daughter and I, and after all these years, I believed it was done and that door was closed. I thought I’d come to terms with the not knowing, with the path my life—Juliette’s life—has taken. And then last week a notice came in the mail for that letter, and soon I discovered all that was inside.”

“Tell me, Laila. What does the letter say?”

“Oh, it says the most wonderful things, Matt. Answers upon answers to my prayers.” She smiled through her tears as floodgates opened and the words tumbled out. “Juliette wants to meet me, and her parents give their blessing. They’ve never kept the adoption a secret from her. They gave her the locket on her fifteenth birthday, which was just a few weeks ago, and told her about me. They’ve been praying for me, Matt, praying for guidance in all of this. For the past fifteen years, they’ve been praying.” She swiped her eyes, suddenly barely able to speak. “They prayed for me, Matt, for me…the woman who gave her child away.”

“Why does that surprise you, Laila?” Matt reached across the desk to twine his fingers with hers, sheltering them. “You did a terribly difficult thing…a very brave thing, given the circumstances.”

“I don’t deserve their prayers and kindness. I don’t deserve that letter…or a relationship with Juliette.”

“You did what you thought was best at the time, sweetheart. There’s no shame in that, and whether or not you think you deserve them, it’s obvious that they believe you do.”

“How could God listen to what they asked Him on my behalf? How could He even care about what I want in this…what I need?”

“You pray all the time, Laila. Don’t you think He is listening?”

“That’s different.”

“Why? Because it’s just a few, quick words strung together.” Matt shook his head. “I’m no expert—far from it—on God and prayer. But I do know this much— prayer isn’t a good luck charm. No, it’s a song, straight from your heart, Laila. I’ve felt it when I’m with you, witnessed the depth of your words first-hand. It’s changed me in ways I’ve never imagined possible. God—your God and mine—is a God of grace and mercy.”

“I know that. I really do.” She sniffled. “And the very fact that I’ve given you the impression I believe anything less than that…” She dipped her head, shielded her eyes as tears splashed onto the desktop. “Juliette’s parents kept my note all these years and the information the delivery nurse, out of the goodness of her heart and by the grace of God, passed on to them. They wrote to see if I feel the same, if I’d like to meet Juliette, too. They’re waiting for a reply.”

Matt rounded the desk and lifted Laila from the chair, gathering her close. Through the fabric of his T-shirt, still slightly damp and smelling of hard work and sunshine, she felt the steady, sure cadence of his heart.

“I guess there’s only one question now.” His lips brushed the crown of her head before drifting gently to her temple. “What are you going to do?”

 

 

 

Chapter 14

“UNCLE MATT, CAN IRIS COME over tonight to work on our research paper?” Gray asked as he tossed his sketch pad on the table. “I’m good at the research part, and she’s good at stringing it all together, making it sound fancy and stuff.”

“That sounds like a plan. Maybe she’d like to have dinner with us, too.”

“That would be awesome. Can I borrow your phone to call her and ask?”

“No.”

“No?” Gray’s blue eyes flashed. “Why not?”

“Because you can use your own.” Matt tossed him a cell phone encased in a protective covering. “I picked it up on the way home from my meeting today, charged it while you were down at the riverfront, sketching. I figured it was time.”

“Whoop, whoop!” Gray pressed the power button, and then danced around the room as the phone fired up. “It’s really all mine?”

“As long as the cuss cup stays empty and your grades remain up to par.” Matt pointed a finger at him. “And if you lose it, break it, or accidently flush it down the commode, there won’t be another replacement.”

“I’ll be careful. You don’t have to worry about that. And the summer term’s more than halfway over now. I’m doing okay.”

“I know you are, and I’m so proud of you.”

The words were like a surge of electricity to Gray’s face. His eyes, no longer hidden beneath a shadow of hair, lit up like a pair of flares while his lips bowed into a smile. He threw his arms around Matt.

“Thanks, Uncle Matt.”

Matt reveled in the bear hug. How far Gray had come in what amounted to little more than a couple of months was nothing short of a miracle. Matt owed much of Gray’s progress to Laila and the relentless effort she put into guiding kids such as him—broken, hurting kids—to a brighter future.

Laila had come a long way, too. Communication was the name of the game for them, now, and he’d learned so much about her. Things that gave him hope for the future—their future.

When Matt kissed her now, and she kissed him in return, he felt the desires of her heart and knew those desires included him. And not just in ways Matt had imagined in the past, but in deeper, more genuine and gratifying ways. Just the thought of her sent his pulse into a gallop and his heart tumbling. Imagine that—Matt Bennett content with a gentle stroke of fingers along his forearm and the warm caress of a kiss.

Sure, Matt wanted Laila—all of her—but he’d continue to take it slow, make each moment count. And when the day finally arrived in which they’d discover something more, she’d be wearing a ring—his ring—on her wedding finger.

“This is so cool.” Gray brought Matt plunging back to earth as he paged through the phone’s apps, his voice gleeful. Hard to imagine a small, electronic device could elicit such a delighted response. Matt figured it was the way of the future. But as for himself…he preferred a good, old fashioned face-to-face conversation to the distant, hi-tech innovations.

Especially where Laila was concerned. The storms of life had settled into a comfortable ebb and flow following that emotional afternoon in her office. It had been a rough patch, but they’d both found their footing once again—together.

A few things were still up in the air. After months of deliberation, Matt thought it best to leave the NHL. Instead of a career on the ice, he and his agent had negotiated on the other side of the penalty box for the head coaching position right here in Knoxville, with the Ice Bears. Matt knew in his heart that it was time to return to his hometown for good. Kara was hinting around at moving west, out to California, with a guy who thought he could make a go in the movie world. She figured she’d tag along for the ride and to see where the wind carried her. Matt hadn’t mentioned anything to Gray yet. There was no point in hiking that trail when Matt already knew where it was headed—with Gray remaining at his side and Kara battling another round of heartache. Already, his heart broke for his sister. Would she ever figure things out?

Matt had spoken to Laila about Gray staying with him, and the word adoption had even been mentioned a time or two. If Gray was going to continue to live in his care, Matt wanted the arrangement to be permanent. The kid had been through enough upheaval over his lifetime. As far as Matt was concerned, the journey had come to an end. Of course, Gray would have a say, but Matt was certain he knew how that conversation would go when the time came.

Matt’s thoughts circled back to Laila. When her tears had finally dried that difficult afternoon, she’d carefully composed a letter to Juliette’s parents and placed it in the mail. A handful of weeks had passed, and she expected a response any day. The wait was challenging, but Matt knew in the end that the waiting would amount to a miraculous event.

As far as his feelings for Laila, there was nothing up in the air in that department. Matt loved her, and he was irrevocably in love with her.

“You’re the best, Uncle Matt.” Gray’s words of endearment tugged him back to the present as the kid finished his jig around the kitchen. “The bomb of all bombs.”

“Thanks.” Matt choked back a sudden wave of emotion. “I love you, too.”

“I have to call Iris. She’s gonna freak to hear I finally have a phone again.”

“Give her a shout and then get back here to the kitchen.” Matt swiped at his eyes as he turned to gather a box of angel hair pasta from the cabinet. “Laila’s on her way over, too, so it’s a good time to clue you in on something else women like.”

“What’s that?”

“They like men who can cook.” He added a few cloves of garlic, an onion, and a small bottle of olive oil to the counter where the box of pasta waited. “And who offer to stick around to load the dishwasher and clean the kitchen when the meal’s been devoured.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“You’ve got a lot to learn, Gray.” Lean ground beef, a block of Parmesan, and a few sprigs of parsley rounded out the mix.

“So, I guess I’m a work in progress.”

“Aren’t we all?” Matt took a cheese grater from the shelf. “I’m convinced that’s one of the secrets to a happy life—just keep paying attention and learning.”

“I guess.” Gray punched a series of numbers into the phone, hit send, and then held the phone to his ear. While he waited, he continued his conversation with Matt. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

“For your first gourmet cooking lesson, we’ll start with something easy and virtually impossible to mess up—garlic bread, a tossed salad, and spaghetti with meat sauce.”

“You mean like a jar of Ragu?”

“I said this is a gourmet cooking lesson.”

“I thought gourmet was anything that doesn’t come from a drive-thru.”

“Good grief.” Laughter bubbled from the pit of Matt’s belly as he mussed Gray’s hair and then gave him a pat between the shoulders. “Just finish your call and hurry back.”

 

 

After dinner Iris and Gray commandeered the kitchen table to tackle their latest project while Matt and Laila retreated to the balcony off the living room. Night was closing in, and the sky came to life in a velvety quilt embellished with brilliant points of light.

“This is the most amazing view.” Laila gazed over the star-dappled water to the ridge of mountains beyond. “I’ll bet you never grow tired of it.”

“It has its high points, but I’ve been thinking of looking into a home that’s more private and a little more permanent. Especially if Gray’s going to stick around.”

“Will he?”

“It’s looking that way.”

“You’ll make a great father, Matt. You already are a great father. Watching you with Gray makes me think of Juliette, makes me wonder what might have…” Her voice trailed off. “The letter I’ve been waiting for came today.”

He drew her closer. “Oh, Laila, tell me every word.”

“Juliette wrote it herself, with her parents’ blessing.” Laila reached into her pocket to retrieve the envelope. “She’s coming through Knoxville in a few weeks, on her way to the Smokies for an end-of-summer vacation with her parents. She wants to see me, and to have lunch together.”

“That’s wonderful news.”

“I’m scared.” She shook her head. “Let me rephrase…I’m positively terrified.”

“Oh, there’s no need to be. I promise Juliette is going to love you.” He gathered her in for a kiss. “And, guess what?”

“Hmm...?”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

 

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

“LET ME HELP YOU WITH that.” Matt offered as he hoisted the bag of field hockey equipment from Laila’s arms. “Juliette’s flight is scheduled to arrive in an hour. We’d better be heading to the airport.”

“Where’s Gray?”

“He’s flexing his muscles with the bona-fide, for-real driver’s license he earned last month. He’ll chauffeur Iris home, and then circle back to the formal wear store pick up our tuxes for the wedding before heading back to the condo.”

“I can hardly fathom our wedding is only days away.” At the mention, Laila’s frown morphed to a smile.

“Yes, we’ll be man and wife in just a few short days.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It sure does.” Matt leaned in and stole a kiss. “And it’s all the more reason to get you to the airport. You and Juliette need an evening together before the rehearsal tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe she’s really coming. It’s almost surreal.” Laila locked the equipment closet and turned to Matt. “All of this is surreal. The new house we’ll move into next week, your coaching job, my future with you.”

“Our future together.”

“Do you think we’ll give Juliette a little brother or sister, and Gray a cousin…maybe even two or three?”

“God willing.”

“Juliette’s adoptive parents have been so good to me, encouraging our relationship and allowing her to come this weekend to share in our joy…our wedding. In all my heartfelt prayers, I never imagined…”

“You didn’t have to imagine. God heard the desires of your heart long before you put them into words.”

“Yours, as well, Matt.” Laila surrendered to his kiss. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“It’s more than wonderful.” He took her hand as they exited the gym, switching off the lights as they went. “It’s a true gift from God.”

Thanks for spending a little time with Matt and Laila in Honor’s Reward. If you enjoyed your time here, please consider leaving a short review on Amazon. Positive reviews and word-of-mouth recommendations honor an author while also helping fellow readers to find quality fiction to read.

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Enjoy this sneak peek at…

 

Diamond Knot Dreams:

The Collection

 

 

Four Romantic Tales in One Heartwarming Collection…

 

Get swept away to Diamond Knot Dreams, a bridal boutique run by four friends, in a refurbished Victorian home that carries loads of southern charm and haunting secrets.

 

Veiled Gems

Will superstitions spoil Lila and Morgan’s Happily Ever After?

Lila Brooks believes in fairytale endings for everyone but herself, even as she commissions Morgan Holt to transform the run-down Victorian house she's purchased into an all-inclusive bridal boutique she's named Diamond Knot Dreams. Clover Cove’s residents have whispered  the house is filled with spirits, but superstitions have no place in Lila's life.

Morgan Holt spent the better part of his youth transplanted from one foster home to another. Separated from his older brother at an early age, they’re reunited shortly after Morgan’s arrival to Clover Cove. But the last thing Morgan wants is to trust his heart again to a family—or a woman as intriguing as Lila Brooks.

Soon Lila and Morgan have a chance at their own Happily Ever After, but will events from the past destroy their future?

 

Jeweled Dreams

Will an S.O.S lead to Avery and Jason to tragedy, or love?

When best friend Lila Brooks sends out an S.O.S. for help at Diamond Knot Dreams, graphic designer Avery Lakin heads to Clover Cove. She’s planning to stay only a few weeks, but nature photographer Jason Ingram captures her attention. Soon, she finds herself swept up in the beauty of his work…and in him.

Jason Ingram traveled the earth as a nature photographer until tragedy called him home to Clover Cove. Now. he’s determined to share nature's bounty through his photography studio while raising his precocious niece, Kenzie. What he doesn’t plan on is falling for Avery Lakin.

When strange things begin to happen at Diamond Knot Dreams—rumored to be haunted—Avery and Jason must bond together to get to the heart of the matter.

 

Precious Fire

Will a meddling spirit help Claire and Ryan’s romance bloom, or bring love to a grinding halt?

Claire McLaughlin dreams of pursuing her passion to bake sweet confections, so when former college roommate Lila Brooks requests help with catering services at Diamond Knot Dreams, Claire grabs the invitation with both hands.

Ryan Kendrick has returned home to Clover Cove to raise his step-brother following the death of their grandmother. When he rents office space on the second floor of Diamond Knot Dreams, he soon succumbs to talented Claire McLaughlin’s sweet confections—as well as the blue-eyed beauty herself.

As their romance blooms, so do the shenanigans of Diamond Knot Dreams' meddling spirit, Ellie. Will her wily antics help to draw Claire and Ryan closer together, or bring the blossoming romance to a grinding halt?

 

Crystal Wishes

Will events from the past rise up to destroy Skylar and Adam’s future?

As a clothing-buyer-turned-seamstress, Skylar Lannigan’s hands whisper tender ballads over fabric. She fills a sketchbook with flowing and whimsical designs—including versions of a to-die-for wedding dress tucked away for her own wedding day—if she’d only find Mr. Right. She’d once imagined a bright future with Adam Caldwell, until he took off with no explanation.

Adam Caldwell’s life has been a series of hairpin curves since the night a tragic accident claimed both his parents and nearly the life of his sister, Faith, as well. When Faith, who's still recovering from her injuries, asks for help selecting a wedding dress, Adam accompanies her to Diamond Knot Dreams. He's soon reunited with beautiful and lively Skylar Lannigan.

Romance soon rekindles between Adam and Skylar, but will events from their past rise up to destroy any hope for a future?

 

 

Read on for an excerpt of Lila and Morgan’s love story:

 

Veiled Gems

Veiled Gems

 

 

Chapter 1

LILA BROOKS SHIELDED HER EYES with one hand to peer down the boulevard. Sunlight dappled through graceful branches of weeping cherry trees, turning the pavement to a shimmer of diamonds. Warm, generous rays teased Lila’s eyes and heated her skin through a pressed linen skirt and coral blouse. A gentle breeze moderated the sultry heat as it carried the musky scent of rich, damp earth.

Hair along the nape of Lila’s neck danced and tickled.

The day was as close to perfection as anyone could wish for. Fresh mown lawns hinted at spring. Yet, the verdant landscape did little to soften Lila’s anxious mood as she paced a length of sidewalk.

Morgan Haynes, the builder who had come highly recommended by her friend Avery’s father, was late. Lila frowned. Long-awaited renovations for her bridal boutique were poised to begin and she was anxious to get the work underway. She’d spent the better part of a year researching properties and had finally settled on the quaint East Tennessee town of Clover Cove. Her initial visit to the area revealed a flux of growth that would easily support new business, yet the community took pride in maintaining its hometown, neighborly spirit. Subsequent visits, followed by a permanent relocation several months ago, merely served to enhance Lila’s intuition.

She’d planned and labored long months to bring her well-laid designs for the wedding shop to fruition. Now that the property had been purchased and the construction loan signed and sealed, she didn’t want any further delays. An overhaul would transform the majestic three-story Victorian house into a state-of-the-art bridal showplace.

It had been nearly three months since Lila staked a placard, now slightly yellowed and fading a bit from the effects of inclement weather, in the lawn beside the Victorian’s front stairs. Its message rang simple and to the point:

 

Coming Soon…

Diamond Knot Dreams: Your One-stop Wedding Shop.

 

Coming Soon proved the operative phrase. Lila wanted to complete this project with every attention to detail, but her patience was wearing thin. Excitement took over. She longed to get the boutique up and running. Surely, she could find a balance to get everything done within a timely fashion.

It was going to take a village to coax the business to fruition, and so far, she and Morgan were the only two signed up for the team.

And as it stood Morgan was AWOL. No phone call, no text, no email.

Where was he?

Lila felt as if she’d known Morgan for a lifetime, yet she had stumbled upon him merely months ago and quite by accident. After confiding her frustration in finding a builder who was both willing and qualified to tackle the boutique project, former college roommate and lifelong friend Avery Lakin spurred to action. Less than twenty-four hours later Lila received a call from Avery’s dad, who supplied Morgan’s information and personally vouched for him as a top-of-the-line builder who specialized in transforming older buildings while maintaining the heart of their original beauty.

Lila snatched the timely lead. A quick phone call to Morgan’s Nashville office set things into motion. Via countless emails and phone conversations that followed, she found Morgan to be forthright and dependable. Even more importantly, he seemed capable of tackling the project while respecting the confines of her budget. His sense of humor and the ease she found in their ability to communicate proved an added bonus.

As the weeks passed, Lila found herself looking forward to Morgan’s calls for more than the business aspect. His deep, southern accent proved intriguing and Lila knew from his website photos that he had the looks to match. He’d seemed as eager as she to finally meet in person and get this project started.

Until today.

Lila gazed down the boulevard once again. A mockingbird in a tree across the way warbled through its repertoire of calls. The branches of a weeping cherry quaked as the bird swooped to a lower limb to continue his lonesome serenade. He seemed to be calling to her—or perhaps calling for Morgan. But his cry did no good at all. Traffic along the road proved light this time of mid-afternoon. Not so much as a motorcycle or even a bicycle crossed her path as she waited there. Lila hoped to enhance the traffic pattern with a clever marketing campaign. She planned to welcome a healthy flow of vehicles as soon as the boutique opened its doors.

She nibbled a fingernail as she envisioned Morgan snarled in a traffic jam. She’d learned the hard way that the I-40 corridor between downtown Nashville and Clover Cove could be daunting as rush-hour approached.

Or perhaps he’d changed his mind about coming…

She dismissed the thought. She’d worked hard to get to this point, so very hard, and nerves had her turning into a shrew with all of these outlandish fears. She smoothed her skirt and turned her attention back to the house. The Victorian, with its drooping sleepy-eyed shutters, languished like a neglected woman just waiting for her soulmate to come along so they might embark together on the adventure of a lifetime. A wide, graveled area at the front entrance would, with some serious TLC, serve as an ample parking lot. The weed-infested area led to a broad staircase that opened onto a sweeping wrap-around porch just made for sweet tea and sunshine. The flooring and rails would benefit from a pressure-washing and fresh coat of paint. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine a cluster of rocking chairs accented by the colorful spill of potted wave petunias.

Lila’s plan to offer a down-home southern flair, along with impeccable customer service, was sure to draw clients to the bridal boutique like honey draws flies.

Ample, panoramic windows at the front of the wood-framed structure offered a wash of natural light along the interior. Original hardwood flooring would be stripped and polished to a high sheen meant to complement the many displays she planned to showcase.

Lila’s pulse thrummed with anticipation. There were so many things to love about the building; she found it hard to believe this property sat vacant for several years. But the structure’s crowning detail proved to be a pair of stout, regal turrets. One perched along the east side of the front while a second adorned the back. Both drew the eye in an enchanting display.

The house proved a beautiful, intriguing poem whose architectural lines pleased even the most discerning eye. The structure lacked for nothing—except a thorough overhaul of its inner workings. She and Morgan had agreed that updated wiring and plumbing would be a good place to start. In addition, Lila requested the removal of a few non-weight-bearing walls. The renovation would open the first floor into a spacious showroom.

Morgan assured Lila during their many phone conferences and emails that the list of repairs would be easy enough to complete before spring eased to summer. But Lila still felt more than a bit uneasy when she thought of the copious notes and details they’d sifted through. There were just so many things to consider.

And time was wasting.

Elephants danced a jig through her belly. She splayed a hand to calm the nerves. Had she thought things out well enough? Had she considered every possible detail? There were a million things that could go wrong with this project and any delay could easily cripple her financially. She’d tossed every last penny of her savings into the mix and also gambled on a small business loan to chase this dream to the finish line.

Even so, the house’s peeling paint and weather-warped deck boards did nothing to dispel Lila’s excitement. She saw beyond the Victorian’s dust and fractured plaster to the beauty locked inside. The house sat like a princess on her throne and Lila vowed to add a bushel of crowning touches.

But the work couldn’t begin until the tardy Mr. Morgan Haynes showed himself. She reached into her purse for her cellphone and checked the screen for a voicemail, a text. At this point she’d even settle for a flimsy smoke signal.

Any sign of life.

Instead she found nothing but a blank screen.

Lila caught her lower lip between her teeth and grimaced as she dropped the phone back into her purse. Pacing the length of the sidewalk did no good to calm the rising tide that turned her stomach. Worry set in. It was so out of character for Morgan to miss an appointment time that Lila feared he might be snarled in a ghastly pile-up along the interstate.

The thought tangled her nerves. She feared she might never meet Morgan face-to-face. The project aside, something more drew her to him…something she couldn’t begin to explain. Could she possibly have feelings for a man she hadn’t even met? One she’d merely conversed with?

Often. Daily. Sometimes several times a day.

She sighed and paused to gather her bearings. The sidewalk swam beneath her feet as she imagined Morgan in harm’s way. Astonished, she realized her eyes had flooded with tears.

The humidity coupled with a sleepless night must be getting to her. She drew a deep breath and willed her pulse to steady.

As her senses knitted back together a flash of red swooped around the corner. It took a moment to register the flashy sports car that gleamed like a ripe habanero pepper as sunlight bounced from the waxed paint. The ragtop fanned open. Music blared over the muffled, steady rumble of a high-powered engine.

Lila pressed one hand to her ribcage and drew a huge breath of relief.

Morgan—he’s OK. He’s arrived safely.

She headed that way as the car approached with the saucy swagger of a confident driver at the wheel. She lifted her sunglasses from the bridge of her nose and propped them atop her head. Sunlight stung her eyes and she blinked hard to clear her vision. She wanted a good look at the man to whom she had entrusted her life savings—and her future in Clover Cove.

His dark hair danced in the breeze. Though his voice lost its battle with the thrum of music, his moving lips told her he sang right along with the melody. His eyes were shielded by reflective wire-frame sunglasses, but the kelly-green polo shirt showcased sinewy forearms as well as a broad and well-defined terrain of shoulders. The guy obviously knew his way around heavy equipment.

The car skidded to a stop alongside the curb. Lila planted her hands on her hips and waited for Morgan to lower the radio’s volume.

Unaffected by her piercing gaze, he belted out the final verse of the song. She narrowed her gaze and made a point to tap the face of her watch.

He actually had the nerve to wink at her as the last note resonated.

Really…Really?

Flashing a magnetic smile, he switched off the ignition. The music faded, but he continued the tune with a totally original verse.

She itched to throttle him.

“Are you finished yet? Are you done belting out your ridiculous rendition of that song? Because, if I didn’t know better I’d think you hope to be discovered by a talent scout.”

“Wow…” Morgan twirled his key ring on one finger. “So you think I’m ready for the big stage?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” A smile tickled the corners of her lips. Although Morgan would probably never win a talent show for his singing—much less an award for being on time today—he possessed a healthy dose of charisma that she found both unsettling and endearing. “Saying you’re ready for crooning in the shower would be a stretch, and that’s only if no one is listening.”

“Ouch.” The smile went flat as he opened the driver’s door and unfolded himself from the seat. His legs were long, lean, and the rest of him followed suit. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

“Not when it comes to my business…or my money.”

“I’ll file that memo for future reference.” He tapped his left temple. “By the way, I’m Morgan Haynes.”

He offered his hand. Huge, warm, callused. The guy was no stranger to physical labor. Yet she sensed a gentleness as his fingers melded with hers.

“Morgan…I assumed as much.” With a tinge of regret, Lila drew her hand back. “I recognize you from the photo posted on your website. I’m pleased to finally meet you. And, as you’ve most likely suspected, I’m Lila Brooks.”

“Lila, yes.”  He stepped onto the sidewalk as his gaze drank her in. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

“Thank you.” She nodded curtly. “For the record, you’re late.”

“Actually, I’m two minutes early.” Morgan smoothed the pad of his thumb over the face of his wristwatch to prove his point. “Two and a half minutes, to be exact.” He ran a hand through his hair, coaxing the dark, windblown waves back into place. A shadow of stubble grazed his jawline, connecting at a deep cleft near the center of his chin. When he removed his sunglasses, smoky-blue eyes tagged hers and held tight. “But if you’d like me to get back in my car and drive away, then return in a few minutes so you can be right on the point, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

“No, that’s certainly not necessary.” Lila gathered her hair as it danced in the breeze to veil her eyes and tease her cheeks. She wished she had thought to secure it with an elastic band before heading out that morning. “It’s just that in my universe if you’re not at least ten minutes early, you’re late.”

“Well, I obviously don’t reside in your universe, so one of us is going to have to consider a change of zip code.” Morgan turned back toward the car. “And, since we’re filing mental notes, you need to know that I don’t do well taking orders from high maintenance clients.”

“High maintenance…?” Lila stuttered. “Who’s high maintenance?”

“Take a look.” Morgan grinned as he tapped the car’s side-view mirror. Lila was horrified to find her image gazing back. “If the reflection fits…”

“That’s ridiculous.” Lila shook her head to reinforce the fact and pressed a hand to his forearm. It only took a moment for her to regret the touch as sinewy muscles screamed back at her. The guy had obviously spent substantial time wielding construction tools. “But I’m sorry if I’ve come off that way. This project has me on edge. Cut me a little slack.”

“That, I can do. Apology accepted.” Morgan’s gaze slid to her hand still resting along his arm. “And though the jury’s still out on the high maintenance issue, I completely understand the nerves. This is a huge undertaking.” His gaze shifted to the Victorian. “But she’s a beauty in the rough, that’s for sure. We’re going to accomplish great things together…a total transformation.”

“You think so?”

“I do, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Right. I’m sorry for starting off on the wrong foot and for being so snippity with you.”

“Snippity? Is that a real word?”

“It is now.” Lila removed her hand from his arm and stepped back. “Like I said, I’m just…a little on edge and anxious to get going.”

“Then, let’s get to it.” He started toward the house.

“Yes, let’s.”

Lila fell in beside Morgan’s long, lean stride.

She hadn’t made it half-a-dozen steps when the heel of her navy pump caught in a sidewalk crack. She stumbled—right into Morgan.

“Whoa, there.” Without missing a beat, he caught her against his chest. For a moment she found herself in a tilt-a-whirl of sensations. “I’ve got you.”

A terrain of muscles…the clean scent of soap…a hint of cotton.

She steadied herself and blew a wisp of bangs from her eyes as she slanted a gaze upwards to find Morgan staring at her. “Well, that’s just peachy…nothing seems to be going as planned today.”

“Why don’t you take a breath? We’ll slow the pace a little.” He set her firmly on her feet and took a step back. “Better?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

He offered her a hand as his lips curved into a lopsided smile. Again, Lila found evidence of a strong work ethic along the surface of his palm; calluses lined his fingers.  “You don’t have to go it alone anymore—I’m here now. You’ve got a load on your plate and that’s a lot to handle, so let me share the burden. It’s wise to remember that restoring a century-old house takes a tender, patient touch—not a bulldozer.”

“Of course you’re right. That’s why you’re the expert.” Lila straightened and smoothed a wrinkle from her pencil skirt. She wished she’d thought to wear more sensible shoes along with the hairband she’d also forgotten. The breeze caused her hair to tumble over her shoulders and into her eyes. She brushed it back with her fingers. “Thank for the reminder, Mr. Haynes.”

“Good grief, call me Morgan. We’re going to be working together from this point on, elbow to elbow, so let’s just shelve the formalities.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad we’re finally here together. Those phone conversations and the tedious exchange of emails was getting old fast.” Morgan scanned the length of her, pausing at the area just below her knees, where the hem of the skirt skimmed her skin, before rising up to tag her gaze once again. “You look different than I expected.”

“How so?”

“Just…” He shrugged and tucked the sunglasses into the collar of his polo shirt. “…softer. From your tone during our conversations I expected more of the drill-sergeant type—short hair, loafers, no nail polish or make-up. The no-nonsense type.”

“Loafers?” Lila chuckled. “Well, despite my more feminine attire and the fact that I prefer to wear my hair long and my nails groomed, I am certainly no-nonsense when it comes to business decisions.”

“Yes, that is one footnote that has rung through loud and clear.”

“I suppose your round-about sort of compliment warrants a thank you, so…thank you.” Lila tossed her length of hair back over one shoulder and checked the buttons on her blouse. Morgan regarded her as if he could see right through her. What had he expected—that she’d sport three heads, each with a Cyclops eye? “Well, I’m ready to get this project started if you are.”

“Oh, I’m beyond ready. But wait just one more minute. I almost forgot something important.” He turned and jogged a few steps back toward the car. He leaned into the open ragtop and lifted a bulky package from the passenger seat. “Here you go.”

“Flowers…you brought me flowers?” Lila pressed the generous cluster of wildflower blooms to her nose and inhaled the sweet promise of spring. “They’re absolutely lovely, and wildflowers are my favorite.”

“I figured a girl like you would prefer roses, but I’m glad these will do. I thought they were pretty.”

“They are beautiful. And they’re absolutely perfect. Wildflowers top my list. But why did you do this? I didn’t expect—”

“I know you didn’t. That’s what makes it extra special. And I suppose I should warn you that I’m full of surprises. This has been a huge project…the dream, the vision, the plans. I thought you should have something to commemorate the beginning of the final stage—construction.”

“Thank you, Morgan. That’s so sweet.” Lila gently stroked the blooms. “You’re really sweet.”

“Well, I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but never sweet. So, you’re welcome.” He bowed elegantly and then rose again to turn once more toward the car. He grabbed a ball cap from the seat and tugged it low on his head to shield his eyes from the sun. “Now, lead the way if you can manage in those non-loafer shoes. Which, I might add, I find highly appealing.”

“No worries.” Lila hid a grimace as her toes pinched in the pumps. She warmed at the thought that he found her appealing, yet chastised herself for her poor wardrobe choice. Maybe Morgan’s suggestion of loafers wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder and turned once more toward the narrow walkway that led to the house.

The breeze suddenly kicked up, causing fallen leaves to skitter along the curb. As Lila gazed skyward through the weathered glass of the Victorian’s front turret, she was sure a shadow crossed the window. Her pulse shuddered at the thought of an intruder in the house.

“Did you see that?” She motioned toward the window.

“What?”

“Up there…in the window.” She squinted and shielded her eyes against the sun for a better look. “I saw something.”

Morgan followed her gaze. “Probably just a shadow, a reflection of a tree limb.”

“Maybe.” She strained her gaze, but the scrutiny found no further sign of movement.

She shrugged off the idea of an unwelcome visitor lurking along the property. No one with the exception of her or the realtor had been in the house during the past year. Morgan’s work had all been done through research using the architectural plans and a computer program. He had yet to see the guts of the structure firsthand.

Lila brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. This sunlight has my eyes playing tricks on me. Morgan’s right, I must have seen a tree limb dancing in the breeze.

“Are you OK?” Morgan eased in beside Lila, notepad in hand, and took her by the elbow. “Let me help you. This gravel is tricky. It’s definitely on the to-do list to repave this lot for easier access and parking.

“I’m okay. I just thought…well, I really thought I saw a woman dressed in an old-fashioned gown…you know, with a high-buttoned collar.” Lila demonstrated by cupping a hand above her collarbone. “But it couldn’t possibly have been, or you would have seen it too. I simply saw the reflection of a tree branch or a passing cloud.”

“There are no clouds in the sky today.” Morgan motioned toward the rich expanse of blue above them. “Look…nothing but an ocean of sunshine.”

“Right.” Lila hesitated as she gave the window a final curt scan before drawing her attention back to Morgan. “Then it was a shadow of some sort. There are plenty of trees along the front yard.”

“Yes, there are.” Morgan nodded as he rubbed the scruff along his chin. “So, you’re probably right on that count. But I still have to ask…have you seen them yet?”

“Seen who?”

“The spirits that are said to be found here. I’ve done a little research of my own on this property and rumor has it that the house took so long to sell because people are concerned that something lingers inside…something not of this world.” He motioned toward the second-floor turret where a pane of glass was fractured by a jagged gash. The damage was just one of the many reasons Lila had been able to snatch this building for a song from the realty company. “By all accounts this place is…well, some would assert that it’s haunted.”

“That’s simply an old wife’s tale.” Lila sniffed and the pollen from a cluster of Bradford pear trees along the drive made her sneeze. When she’d caught her breath and thanked Morgan for his God bless you, she continued. “This house is nothing of the sort. Talk like that is just…well, it’s merely superstition. I would prefer to keep such rumors where they belong—to yourself.”

“Whatever you say, but I’m not the one who’s seeing shadows.” Morgan tucked his car keys into his pocket. “Are you ready to head inside?”

“Oh…I’m more than ready. I think I may have seen a vase for these flowers in an upstairs room.” The previous owners had left several pieces of furniture and a flurry of belongings—almost as if they’d left in a hurry. “And the water should be running—I called the company last week to have it turned back on.”

“All systems are go, then.”

“Yes, they are.” Suddenly, Lila felt a tiny trill of excitement at what lay in store. Her life-long dream to own her own business was taking flight. She’d be her own boss, make the boutique exactly what she wanted it to be. Her imagination—and her budget—were the only limits. The thought was almost surreal. She stepped carefully along the gravel drive, holding her balance as she crossed to the stairs. “And, Mr. American Idol wannabe, I can manage in these shoes just fine.”

“Sure you can.” Morgan swept his free hand across the drive. “After you, princess. Let’s go.”

 

 

 

Chapter 2

MORGAN HAD TO ADMIT, THE house was a diamond in the rough. The place had genuine character—even more than had been evident in the countless photos and video footage Lila had forwarded to him over the previous months. Once the restoration project was completed, the community would surely flock to see the turn-of-the-century building reestablished to its original beauty. Whether or not that would equate to an outpouring of business remained to be seen.

Lila wanted a state-of-the-art bridal boutique in a history-laced turn-of-the-century structure. The very thought served as a paradox, yet Morgan looked forward to his role in the challenge. His task was to blend the two dynamics without destroying the character of the building.

Upon his initial research, Morgan thought the Victorian might better serve as a bed and breakfast. But he hadn’t done the in-depth market analysis that Lila had taken the time to do. By all accounts, she found the bank in agreement with her venture and more than willing to back her plan. The woman was driven and thorough, and if she wanted a bridal shop then he’d do his best to give her the bridal shop of her dreams.

Morgan shook his head at the thought. What was it with women and their quest to experience the perfect wedding day? Was there really such a thing as perfect when it came to the chaos and uncertainty of blending the lives of two people, even if they professed to be madly in love with each other? And, more important than the flowers, invitations, music, and attire, wasn’t it what came after all the hullabaloo and festivities that paved the way to a strong marriage—not the actual event itself?

Not that he was an expert on marriage or even looking to head in the direction of a matrimonial altar. He just didn’t understand people who targeted all their efforts—not to mention a small fortune—on planning the revelries just to have their marriage tossed on the burn pile as soon as the shine wore off.

No thanks. Not me.

If he ever did choose to traverse the matrimonial highway—and as things stood at the current moment, the possibility was slim at best—he’d detour away from an over-the-top reception and choose instead to focus on the vows themselves. Keep things simple. After all, if he was going to trust his heart—as well as his life and future—with a woman, he’d need to know that she’d stick around when the going got tough, as it was bound to from time to time. Life played out like the ebb and flow of an ocean tide. He longed for a partner to navigate the waves without losing her cool and her True North. Experience told him the pickings in that department were lean, yet he hoped for a miracle when the time was right.

Not now, though. Not here, because Lila Brooks, with her fancy aspirations toward matrimonial Nirvana, carried a slim-to-none chance of sharing his philosophy on the marriage subject. Talk about residing in a different universe.

Yet she favored the spill of wildflowers he’d brought over a bouquet of long-stemmed roses. Go figure.

Morgan had no desire to shop for over-the-top embossed invitations or cake that resembled a masterpiece but tasted like processed cardboard. A truck full of wedding flowers would simply die within days—a week at the most. He worked too hard to unload his cash on overpriced baubles that would merely fade into the sunset as soon as the banquet hall lights were extinguished.

No siree…the entire over-the-top wedding style just wasn’t his way of doing things. Never would be.

“This is one of the walls I was talking about removing to provide a more spacious feel.” Lila’s heels clicked along the wood floor as she crossed the room.  Earrings dangling from her lobes caught a ray of sunlight through the dirt-splattered windows.

“Okay.” Morgan jotted a note. The aroma of cedar mingled with age and dust. He loved the sweet, musky smell. It signaled a plethora of never-ending possibilities.

“Do you think such a thing is do-able?”

The floorboards creaked in several places as Lila paced, so he added a look at the joists along the top of his to-do list.

“Yes, I can make that happen.” Morgan was having a hard time concentrating on the structural integrity of the building with Lila at his side. The shoes on her feet made it painfully obvious she’d spent little if any time working in a construction zone. But he couldn’t fault her for having a solid vision while looking better than a hot fudge sundae on a sunny summer afternoon. The floral scent of her perfume offered a pleasant balance to the mustiness around them. “But you mentioned there was more than one wall we’d need to work with. Can you show me what you have in mind?”

“Yes. I was thinking of removing that far one, as well.” She motioned and Morgan followed her lead to an area off to their left. He took one look and frowned.

“That one’s weight-bearing. I can remove it, but we’ll have to add a column to stabilize this section of the floor above.”

“Oh…I was hoping to keep the entire area open.” She frowned. “And a column sounds expensive.”

“We can discuss the cost later. Despite a column, this space will still be largely open. But without one, the floor above will eventually destabilize and possibly even come crashing down. That sort of defeats the purpose of an open concept, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” She smoothed a hand along the wall, her palm brushing aside flakes of peeling paint. “Bill Lakin said you’re the best at this type of renovation project and I have no reason to doubt him. So, I’m going to trust you to make this area completely functional while keeping it as eye-appealing as possible. I want my customers to feel at home here…comfortable and unhurried.”

“I won’t let you down.” Morgan drew a pad of paper and a pencil from his back pocket and jotted a few notes. “I didn’t temporarily relocate all the way from Nashville and put every other project on hold just to fall on my face here.”

“Please don’t take offense at my comment,” Lila murmured. “I know you’re the best at what you do. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“I know.” Though she was direct and to-the-point, he sensed a gentleness about her. She wouldn’t harm a fly if she could help it. “Besides, I’ve got tougher skin than that. I’m like Teflon. So, let’s move on.”

Together, they wound slowly through the house, detailing each task. Lila knew what she wanted and had no problem expressing her opinions and concerns. She carried an air of confidence mingled with an undercurrent of vulnerability that appealed to Morgan. He took his eyes off her only long enough to jot quick notes. It had been months since he’d felt the even the slightest inclination in dating a woman, but as the afternoon hours whittled away he found himself wondering what an evening out with Lila might be like.

The feeling became stronger as they climbed the stairs toward the second story. Sunlight spilled through an array of cobwebs as the landing opened to a pair of turrets toward the east end of both the front and back of the house. A long hallway connected them, the floor an expanse of sturdy solid oak planks buried beneath a film of dust and grime. The wear and tear was nothing a good buff and polish couldn’t restore. Across the hall, the floor fanned wide into a huge loft punctuated by a grand balcony. With a little work, the space would prove perfect for the spectacular showroom Lila had mentioned.

For a moment, Morgan paused to envision the finished rooms in all their glory. Warmth cascaded through his chest, dancing around his ribs as the rush of a breeze whispered through fractured glass along the front turret.

Welcome home, Morgan.

“What did you say?” Morgan turned to Lila, but found she had wandered across the hall to explore a closed door at the far corner of the loft.

“I didn’t say anything.” She smoothed a hand over the solid oak and then grasped the knob. It refused to turn.

“What’s in there?”

“I assume there’s a staircase to the third floor, but I’m not sure.” Her hair shone like diamonds in the late-afternoon light that spilled through the glass. “It’s locked and I don’t think the realtor gave me a key. Can you have one made for me?”

“I’ll take a look and see what I can do. What’s up on the third floor?”

“According to the realtor, there’s just a storage area. I haven’t seen it. I…” She paused, her lips curved into a sheepish grin. “Well, I trusted her when she asserted there’s no structural damage that can’t be easily set to rights.”

“I see.” Morgan might not have been so trusting. He’d been burned a time or two during his early construction days and had learned to sift through every detail of a project or a real estate purchase with a fine-toothed comb. He’d have a key made, find his way through the door, and inspect the space ASAP. He felt the undeniable urge to explore the attic now—he could easily remove the door from its hinges in lieu of a key—but he reined it in.

“I’m glad you agreed to transplant yourself from Nashville for the next month or so to get this done for me.” Lila’s eyes sparkled like polished onyx. “Especially considering I’m someone you’ve never even met face-to-face until this afternoon, and know only through remote correspondence. It’s a huge sacrifice and I appreciate it. I appreciate you, Morgan.”

She was right; leaving Nashville wasn’t in his plan. But business had fallen into a lull at just the right time. When Lila’s call came through, he just felt an odd sense of urgency. He knew that coming here to Clover Cove was a business gamble. With a little effort he could have easily garnered other leads in the project department and stayed put in Nashville. But he just couldn’t say no to her. It was as if someone had taken him by the hand and tugged him along, guiding him straight to the Victorian—and to Lila. “I hope you’ll still feel that way when you see the final bill.”

“Speaking of the bill…” Lila’s forehead knit into a crisscross of worry lines. “I assume you’ve brought the contract?”

“It’s right here.” He tapped the binder in his hands. “All I need is your signature and we can make things official. Then we’ll brush off the cobwebs and get started.

“Perhaps we should get that little detail out of the way. I like to have all my ducks in a row.” Lila delved a hand into her purse in search of a pen but came up empty. “I know I put a pen in here. I can’t imagine…”

She frowned. She’d placed a pen in her purse just before she left home that morning. She was sure of it.

“No problem.” Morgan waggled his pencil.

“We can’t sign a contract in pencil.”

“Of course not.” He winked. “So, I guess you’ll have to allow me to take you to dinner. The server is sure to carry a pen.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea—going to dinner with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because…because…oh, I don’t know.”

“Neither do I.” He flipped the notepad closed and tucked it back into his pocket. “Lila, we’re going to be working together for the next several weeks. Are you planning to skip every meal that we’re together?”

“That would be impossible.”

“Good. Then let’s break the seal today. Besides, it’s never good to begin a project of this magnitude on an empty stomach.”  Morgan glanced out the window, noting a red and white awning near the east end of the boulevard. A lighted sign flashed, Pappy’s Pizzeria. He’d read rave online reviews of the eatery that assured the food was well worth the trip. “If it will make you feel better, you can consider tonight’s meal a business meeting. We’ll finalize our plans, then sign the contract.”

“It would expedite things.”

“Of course. Signed, sealed, and then I’ll order the materials and have them ready to go first thing Monday morning. There’s no sense wasting another day on details.”

“You’re right.” Lila smiled and the radiance shot an arrow straight to Morgan’s heart. “Dinner it is, then. Do you like Italian food…pizza, pasta?”

“You’re talking my language.”

“Great. I know an awesome little restaurant just down the boulevard.”

“I think I’ve read your mind.” Morgan took her hand and led her toward the front entrance. “Pappy’s Pizzeria. Let’s go.”

 

 

 

Chapter 3

PAPPY’S PIZZERIA BUSTLED WITH A robust Friday evening crowd. Lila wandered down the aisle toward the rear section until she found a vacant booth near the windows. She slipped into a red-cushioned vinyl seat across from Morgan and settled back as a snappy tune filtered through the speaker system.

“The pasta’s superb here and so is the pizza.” She took the menu Morgan offered. “Actually, you can’t go wrong with anything on the menu; it’s all fantastic.”

“If the desserts featured in that display case at the entranceway are any indication, no one goes home from here hungry.” He opened his menu and scanned the contents. “The portions are huge and I’ll trust your judgement on the quality.”

“You should. I’ve been in Clover Cove long enough to know. And since my cooking skills leave much to be desired, I’ve become a regular here.”

“Did I hear you right? Are you confessing a weakness?” Morgan lifted his gaze to peer at her from behind his menu. “You mean to say you can’t cook?”

“I have many weaknesses…mainly when it comes to chocolate and wildflowers. If you stick around long enough you may discover them all.” She studied the menu, though she practically knew it by heart. “And as for my cooking…it all depends on your definition. I happen to make a mean grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup.”

“Well, I happen to have a soft spot for that particular combination.”

“But anything beyond a sandwich and soup with a garnish of potato chips and you’re on your own.”

“Well, I might take you up on the offer…take my chances and see where it leads.” His dark gaze told Lila he had an interest in more than the food. “In the meantime, what do you think about sharing a pizza?”

Lila’s nerve endings sizzled and popped. She set the menu aside and unraveled the silverware from her napkin as she swallowed hard. Morgan’s gaze remained glued to her, studying her as she placed the napkin in her lap.

“I think that’s a fine idea, as long as you don’t mind to leave off the mushrooms.” They were about the only thing Lila didn’t favor at the cozy family-style restaurant now owned by Kami and Wyatt Cutler. “I am not a fan of fungus.”

“That works for me.” Morgan closed the menu and set it aside as Jada, the peppy server with hair dyed the color of ripe mandarin oranges, approached.

“Hey, Lila.” Jada set two glasses of ice water on the table and then swiped moisture from her hands onto her apron. Her belly sat high and round, signaling the impending birth of a daughter. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Morgan Haynes. He’s a builder from Nashville.” Lila swept her hand between them. “Morgan, meet Jada…and Molly.” She gave Jada’s belly a nod.

“Pleased to meet you, Jada.” He grinned. “I see congratulations are in order.”

“Yes. Thanks.” Jada’s hand went instinctively to her belly. “Morgan…” She leaned in and squinted as she made one slow sweep over him. “Have you been here before? You look awfully familiar.”

“No. This is my first time to town, though I’ve done a lot of research of the area via the Internet.”

“Hmm…that’s odd.” Jada lifted a pen from the pocket of her apron and used it to scratch behind one ear. “I could swear you look just like...”

“Who?’ he asked.

“Never mind.” She shook her head. “Welcome to Pappy’s.”

“Morgan’s going to breathe new life into the Victorian house I purchased just down the boulevard, across from Peyton Cutler’s floral shop.” Lila chatted. “We’re going to begin construction this week.”

“Oh, right.” Jada drew her gaze from Morgan and slipped the pen back into her apron. “Peyton mentioned that you’re going to do some business together. You’re planning to open the boutique soon?”

“As soon as Morgan can tighten up all the details and get the supplies delivered, renovations will commence.” Again, a trill of excitement coursed through Lila at the thought. Her voice quickened. “Remodeling should go pretty quickly from that point.”

“That’s awesome. Chet Simpson ran a story in the community section of the Clover Cove Times last week. I saw it on the front page, complete with a snapshot of the house. The place is so romantic with all the little details we don’t find anywhere else in the Cove…turrets, a sweeping wrap-around porch, and so many windows. It must have really been something back in the day.”

“And it will look fantastic again soon.” Morgan nodded. “Trust me on that point. People will flock.”

“The town is banking on it.” Jada splayed a hand over her mounded belly. “It’s about time we got something like that in this town. No more trips clear out to Knoxville or Nashville when a couple decides to take the big leap. It will be a real time-saver. My sister just got engaged last weekend. She wants an October wedding…autumn leaves and all. Maybe you can help her out, Lila.”

“Of course. I’d love to. An October date leaves us plenty of time to plan. I’m taking appointments even though the building’s not ready. I’m working out of my apartment until then. Your sister can give me a call.” Lila’s excitement soared as she handed Jada a business card. “And maybe Chet will do a follow-up in the Times when Morgan has the work finished, to showcase the completed restoration.”

“I’m sure he will. He’s been gunning for years to have the building restored by just the right person. It’s much too beautiful to sit vacant. I’m glad you’re the one, Lila. It’s as if the building has been waiting for you to come along all these years. You’re the talk of the town, you know.”

“Well, you’ve certainly made my day. As soon as the renovations are finished, I’ll give you a personal tour.” A smile bubbled up as Lila’s voice trembled with pleasure. “It’s good to hear there’s so much interest. Send your sister my way, Jada, and I promise to take good care of her.”

“I know you will. And I can guarantee you’ll have plenty of business. Hattie Cutler plans to be your first customer—with my sister as a solid second—and if they’re pleased with your service, they’ll issue an all-points bulletin six counties wide. In the meantime, you should both probably fuel up. It’s going to take a load of energy to complete the project. What can I get for you today?”

“We’ve decided to share a pizza.” Morgan handed Jada both menus and she tucked them under one arm. “What do you recommend, minus the…um…fungus?”

A conspiratorial glance passed between him and Lila.

“My husband Fred is on the line tonight,” Jada informed them. “And he’s been experimenting with a New York style meat lover’s that’s to die for. It’s heaped to the gills with fresh pepperoni, Italian sausage, ham…maybe even the kitchen sink.” She offered a saucy wink. “All the good stuff plus loads of cheese. And it also happens to be the special today.”

“Mmm…that sounds perfect.” Morgan rubbed his belly. “How about it, Lila?”

“I’m in. What’s a little cholesterol in the grand scheme of things?”

“Well, in that case...” Morgan motioned toward the dessert display. “Save us a few slices of that tiramisu, too.”

“We can do that.” Jada jotted the order on her pad. “And would you like something besides the water to drink?”

“I’ll have a glass of sweet tea with lemon.” Lila smoothed the napkin placed across her lap.

Morgan followed with, “And I’ll take coffee, black.”

“Sure. I’ll post the order and bring you those drinks. Garlic knots drizzled in marinara are coming right up. And be sure to save room for that desert you requested. Fred just made a fresh batch of the tiramisu and it’s out of this world. I know because I’m the official sampler.” Jada patted her belly with a chuckle as she ripped the order sheet from the pad. “Well, baby Molly and I are.”

“This is nice.” Morgan leaned back against the bench seat and inhaled deeply. “You know, the Cutlers could charge here for the aromas alone.”

“Yes, they could.” Lila laughed. “They do things top-notch. Good people, the Cutlers. Hattie Cutler is the honorary matriarch of this town.”

“Really? FYI, that’s where I’ll be staying while I’m here. At Hattie’s place. She’s offered me her guest house free of charge for the next month or so.”

“Really?” Hattie and her family carried a solid reputation for generosity. “That’s wonderful.”

“Apparently Hattie’s hopped on board with the restoration and is bent on helping you stay within your budget. So, you’ll find her kindness reflected in the final cost on the contract when you sign it.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Lila felt a lump of gratitude form in her throat. “That’s so…generous of you.”

“Teamwork gets things done.” His gaze tagged hers and held tight. “My administrative assistant worked out all the housing details with Hattie over the phone. I figured bunking at her guest house would serve my needs better than being caged in a cramped hotel room for several weeks—not that I’m planning to rest too much while I’m here. I intend to get this job done and get back to Nashville.”

“I hear that.” Lila hoped he didn’t read that the thought of him leaving cast an odd shadow of sadness over her. She’d spent less than a day with him, yet she felt as if his going away would leave a void. “And I’m glad you worked things out with Hattie. The Cutler family has been nothing but good to me since I arrived in Clover Cove. Kami and Wyatt Cutler own this pizzeria. They just took it over from Kami’s dad, Anthony Moretto, who decided to retire when he proposed to Hattie earlier this month. The Cutlers also own and operate the nursery across the street. They’ve expanded the property several times over the past half-decade. And, last year Peyton—she married Reese Cutler—opened a floral shop just down the street. Her business has done so well that we’ve made an agreement to partner. She’s going to supply all the wedding arrangements for clients who come through my boutique.”

“Sounds like you’ve got things all figured out.”

“Mostly…though small details keep popping up. They’re nothing I can’t manage, though.”

“Of course not. And the Cutlers seem to have things well in-hand.”

“Oh, they all work together.”

“All?”

“Sure, there are more of them.”

“How many?”

“Well, there’s Maddie, the only sister to the three Cutler brothers—bless her heart. It’s a good thing her husband owns a mechanic’s shop on the other side of town. She’s not known for her pristine driving record. Word on the street is that Gunnar has had to haul her sedan out of a ditch more than a time or two…or three.”

“Gunnar?” Morgan’s blue eyes seemed to darken as the color suddenly leached from his face. “Did you say her husband’s name is Gunnar…and he works on cars?”

“That’s right. Gunnar. He owns Gunnar’s Garage, in town.” Lila picked up her napkin and fanned Morgan’s face as the color drained to an alarming shade of alabaster. “Hey, are you okay?”

****

“Just give me a second.” Morgan’s heart began to race as a lightheaded feeling caused his head to swim. “I’m trying to wrap my head around this.”

“Around what? Morgan—”

“Here you go.” Jada returned at that moment with the drinks and garlic knots. “The tea and coffee are both fresh and I’ll keep it coming. Just give me a holler when you’re ready for more.”

“Thank you, Jada.” Lila’s voice sounded miles away as steam from the garlic knots swirled and danced around Morgan. When Jada left, she leaned in close across the table to whisper urgently. “You’re freaking me out, Morgan.”

The fluorescent lights above seemed to dim and flicker. Black spots danced before Morgan’s eyes. With great difficulty, he drew a breath. “I…I’m fine.”

“Well, no offense, but you don’t look fine. You look…” Lila pressed a glass of water into his hand. She set her gaze firmly as he sipped, swallowed. “Well, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I have, sort of.” He drew another deep breath as the room came back into focus. “Never mind. It’s probably nothing. Just a memory. Let’s eat.”

“Some memory.” She eyed the garlic knots. “Would you like to bless the food?”

“I…” Morgan swallowed the wad of sandpaper in his throat. His appetite had fled, yet it wouldn’t be fair to ruin her meal. So, he put on a good face. “Well, I haven’t prayed for a while but I’ll give it a go if you’d like.”

“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

Morgan reached for Lila’s hand. The touch of her warm skin against his comforted. He managed a short, mumbled blessing that concluded as Jada set a pizza between him and Lila.

Unsettling thoughts swirled through his head. So many memories…so many gnarled emotions gathered like a tangled ball of duct tape.

Could his brother be here in Clover Cove…the same Gunnar who married Maddie Cutler? Could it possibly be?

He drew a sip of coffee. The hot liquid washed the sandpaper from his throat. He eyed Lila over the rim of the mug. “What more can you tell me about Gunnar?”

“What do you want to know?”

Surely Lila’s mention of Gunnar was merely a coincidence. There were plenty of men named Gunnar in the world, who worked on cars and owned mechanics shops, right? And his estranged brother was simply one of them. “It’s crazy. Never mind.”

“If something’s bothering you that much, it can’t be too crazy,” Lila prompted.

“You have no idea.” He shook his head. “Forget I said anything. Let’s focus on the Victorian.”

“Okay, but you’d better dig into the pizza before it gets cold.” Lila lifted a cheese-laden slice from the pan and set it on her plate. The aroma of spicy sausage filled the air. “I gave up eating cold pizza when I graduated from college.”

“I prefer not to limit myself.” Morgan struggled to steady the tremor in his voice. How was it that after so many years, thoughts of his brother could still turn him inside out?

Gunnar had abandoned him when Morgan needed him the most—end of story. The relationship was damaged beyond repair. There was no point in dwelling on a past that couldn’t be changed and a future that would never be.

“Oh, look.” Lila glanced toward the entrance. “Here comes Hattie Cutler now. And Maddie’s with her.” She waved. “Gunnar, too. I suppose they’re coming in for a bite to eat since the nursery just closed for the evening. I’m sure the Cutler men will be happy to show you around town. And you can ask Gunnar anything you’d like about your…crazy situation.”

Morgan choked on a mouthful of pizza. A swarm of bees filled his head with a deafening drone.

Loping toward him, like a sluggish mirage straight out of the desert heat, came Gunnar. Dark hair—a mirror of Morgan’s—framed eyes the color of blue smoke.

Gunnar looked up and his gaze tagged Morgan. He froze, eyes huge, as if a semi bore down in his path.

Morgan locked his gaze.

It’s Gunnar…it’s really him.

Like the flip of a switch, time raced into fast-forward mode. In a trio of strides Gunnar stood at Morgan’s side. He palmed the tabletop as he leaned in, breathless.

“Morgan…”

“This can’t be happening.” Morgan’s words stuck to his throat. “It’s impossible.”

“How did you get here? When? Why?”

“I didn’t know you were here. If I had…” A blaze of heat coursed to chills. “I wouldn’t have come.”

“You’re in shock.” Gunnar shrugged from his jacket and tossed it over Morgan’s

shoulders. “I can’t believe you’re really here. I’ve been looking for you for so long. I didn’t think I’d ever find you.”

“Don’t.” Morgan shrugged from his jacket and it fell to the floor. “I’ll be fine as soon as I get out of here.”

“But we have so much to talk about. Let me—”

“I said back off, Gunnar.” Morgan slid from the booth. “It’s too late for a family reunion. I’m not a frightened eleven-year-old kid anymore. I don’t need you, and I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“You can’t mean that. I don’t understand what’s going on here.”

“You’d be wise to leave me alone, Gunnar, just like you did that night when I needed you.”

Memories rushed back—an assault of flashing cruiser lights and blood-spattered snowdrifts. The country road loomed ink-dark and petrifying as the cruiser carried him away into the black of night, into a terrifying unknown.

“You let the police take me away from everything that was familiar—mom, our home, my friends at school. I didn’t have anything, not even a coat on my back. And it was so cold that night…”

“I tried to stop you. I to you but you ran—”

“Because you were bleeding so badly that I thought you were going to die. I was trying to get help. I wanted help. And after all these years without so much as a word from you, I figured dying was exactly what had happened to you.”

“I’m right here, Morgan.” Gunnar placed a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “I’ve been right here all along.”

Morgan shrugged away from his touch. “You’ve gone on with your life—made a new life—and I’m not part of it.”

“But you could be, I want you to be.”

“Why didn’t you come after me that night or in the days and weeks—the years—that followed? When you turned eighteen? It was so long…so much time alone, not knowing. You slayed me, Gunnar.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.”

Morgan tossed his napkin on the table and, without another word, turned his back on Gunnar and the others. He strode to the exit and shoved through the door. It slammed behind him with a satisfying whap.

The breeze slapped heated skin. Every muscle fiber screamed with agony that seemed to center along his heart. He couldn’t think…couldn’t breathe.

He started walking, then broke into a sprint as the tears came.

Help me, Lord.

He hadn’t prayed more than a simple blessing over a meal in years. Not since he and Mrs. Haynes had buried Mr. Haynes following a massive stroke, and Child Services had once again come to take him away from all that had become familiar and comforting.

Morgan glanced back over his shoulder. The lights of the pizzeria cast a glow over the boulevard as music drifted. Just outside the entrance he caught sight of Lila watching him. He imagined her dark eyes wilted with confusion and hurt.

The thought punctured his soul.

His mind whirled with a cacophony of disjointed emotions.

Gunnar’s here, in Clover Cove. What now?

 

Diamond Knot Dreams: The Collection

~ ABOUT MARY MANNERS ~

 

Where friendship blossoms and love blooms…

Mary Manners is a country girl at heart who has spent a lifetime sharing her joy of writing. She lives in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains of East Tennessee with her husband Tim, their rescue dog Axel, cats Colby and Rascal, a flock of chickens, and an aquarium teeming with fish.

Mary writes stories full of faith and hope. Her books have earned multiple accolades including two Inspirational Reader’s Choice Awards, the Gail Wilson Award of Excellence, the Aspen Gold, the Heart of Excellence, and the National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award.

Mary loves long sunrise runs, Smoky Mountain sunsets, and flavored coffee. She enjoys connecting with reader friends through her website: www.MaryMannersRomance.com.

 

~ More Titles by Mary Manners ~

Miracle Cove Series

 

Christmas in Miracle Cove

Mischief in Miracle Cove

Secrets in Miracle Cove

A Miracle Cove Reunion

 

 

Honeysuckle Cove Series

 

Sunrise at Honeysuckle Cove

Beyond the Storm

Honeysuckle Cove Secrets

Showered by Love

Moonlight Kisses

Sweet Tea and Summer Dreams

A Pair of Promises

Honeysuckle Cove: The Collection

 

Diamond Knot Dreams Series

 

A Tender Season (Diamond Knot Dreams Prequel)

Veiled Gems

Jeweled Dreams

Precious Fire

Crystal Wishes

Diamond Knot Dreams: The Collection

 

The Mulvaney Sisters Series

 

Love on a Dare (The Mulvaney Sisters: Alana)

Captive at Sea (The Mulvaney Sisters: Claire)

Landing in Love (The Mulvaney Sisters: Erin)

 

Serenity Lake Series

 

Dream Come True

 

Christmas Collections

Love at Christmas Inn: Collection 1

Love at Christmas Inn: Collection 2

 

 

Stand-alone Titles

 

Promises Renewed

Tragedy and Trust

Hopes and Kisses (A Sweet Little Sequel to Tragedy and Trust)

Proven Love

A Pocketful of Wishes

Winter Wishes and Snowflake Kisses

Seasoned Lies

~ Connect with Mary Manners ~

 

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