Her Second Chance Family Read online

  “Who are you—really?”

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Christine Scott

  CHRISTINE SCOTT

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Copyright

  “Who are you—really?”

  Jason demanded. “Why have you had to move so often? What past are you running away from? Maggie, talk to me,” he said, taking a step toward her.

  “I...can’t,” she said, the words so quiet he could barely hear them.

  Frustration churned inside him. Refusing to back down, he closed the gap between them until they were mere inches apart. “Why not, Maggie? What could be so bad that you can’t talk to me about it?”

  She shook her head, unable to say a word. Unwilling to say a word.

  “Don’t you see, Maggie? I care about you. I want to help you.” I want you, Jason added to himself, reaching out a hand to stroke the velvety smooth skin at the hollow of her cheek.

  Maggie flinched at his touch. At the touch of a man she wanted more than anything.

  And could never have...

  Dear Reader,

  Spring always seems like a good time to start something new, so this month it’s Marilyn Pappano’s wonderful new Western miniseries, HEARTBREAK CANYON. Cattleman’s Promise is a terrific introduction to the men of Heartbreak, Oklahoma—not to mention the women who change their lives. So settle in for the story of this rugged loner and the single mom who teaches him the joys of family life.

  Unfortunately, all good things must end someday, and this month we bid farewell to Justine Davis’s TRINITY STREET WEST But what a finale! Clay Yeager has been an unseen presence in all the books in this ministries, and at last here he is in the flesh, hero of his own story in Clay Yeager’s Redemption. And, as befits the conclusion to such a fabulous group of novels, you’ll get one last look at the lives and loves of all your favorite characters before the book is through. And in more miniseries news, Doreen Roberts continues RODEO MEN with A Forever Kind of Cowboy, a runaway bride story you’ll fall in love with. The Tough Guy and the Toddler is the newest from Diane Pershing, and it’s our MEN IN BLUE title, with a great cop hero. Christine Scott makes the move to Intimate Moments with Her Second Chance Family, an emotional and memorable FAMILIES ARE FOREVER title. Finally, welcome new writer Claire King whose Knight in a White Stetson is both our WAY OUT WEST title and a fun and unforgettable debut.

  As always, we hope you enjoy all our books—and that you’ll come back next month, when Silhouette Intimate Moments brings you six more examples of the most exciting romance reading around.

  Yours,

  Leslie J. Wainger

  Executive Senior Editor

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  HER SECOND CHANCE FAMILY

  CHRISTINE SCOTT

  Books by Christine Scott

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  Her Second Chance Family #929

  Silhouette Romance

  Hazardous Husband #1077

  Imitation Bride #1099

  Cinderella Bride #1134

  I Do? I Don’t? #1176

  Groom on the Loose #1203

  Her Best Man #1321

  A Cowboy Comes a Courting #1364

  CHRISTINE SCOTT

  grew up in Illinois but currently lives in St. Louis, Missouri. A former teacher, she now writes full-time. When she isn’t writing romances, she spends her time caring for her husband and three children. In between car pools, baseball games and dance lessons, Christine always finds time to pick up a good book and read about...love. She loves to hear from readers. Write to her at P.O. Box 283, Grover, MO 63040-0283.

  To Pat McCandless, a good friend and fellow writer

  Prologue

  The dirt road was narrow, rutted. Maggie Stuart drove the BMW slowly, avoiding the worst of the potholes. The beams of her headlights struggled to cut through the darkness, illuminating her surroundings only a few feet ahead. Not that there was much to see. The road looked to be deserted, the area sparsely populated.

  Six months ago, she’d have been too afraid to come out this far into the country alone at night. Six months ago, she’d been afraid of many things.

  A farmhouse came into view. The building looked abandoned. Windows were broken, the front porch listed precariously on its foundation, and not a light could be seen. Nearby were two outbuildings: a large, weathered barn and a smaller, utility-size garage.

  It was by the garage that she spotted the car.

  As Maggie pulled her sleek BMW alongside the rusty old Ford, two people emerged from it. Both were women. Both were strangers. Maggie shifted her car into Park, but left the engine running. Just in case she felt the need for a quick getaway.... She sighed. Would she ever feel safe again? Would she ever completely trust someone again?

  Glancing at the sleeping figure of her five-and-a-halfyear-old son on the seat beside her, Maggie said a silent prayer for courage, then stepped out of the car.

  “Maggie?” the tall, dark-haired woman asked. Her companion, a short, round-figured redhead, remained silent as she stepped out of the glare of the headlights and into the shadowy darkness. She scanned the area like a burglar casing the property.

  Unnerved, Maggie nodded. “Yes, and you are?”

  The dark-haired woman shook her head. “No names. Where’s your son?”

  Maggie swallowed hard. “He’s in the car, sleeping.”

  The dark-haired woman nodded. “Let’s take care of business first. We’ll wake him soon enough.” Out of her coat pocket, she withdrew an envelope. “There’s everything you’ll need in here—birth certificates, social-security numbers, driver’s license... After tonight, you and your son will have a whole new identity.”

  Maggie hesitated before taking the envelope.

  The dark-haired woman frowned, her eyes searching Maggie’s face. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  Maggie drew in a deep breath, then released the air with a whoosh, along with it letting go some of the tension building inside her. “I don’t have a choice. It was fortunate that I knew of someone your group had assisted. I had nowhere else to turn. The courts refused to listen when I asked for their help. They want me to turn my son over to my ex-husband. But I can’t—he’s dangerous. I have to protect my son.”

  The other woman’s face remained impassive. “You’re not alone, Maggie, you know that. We’ve all been through this in one way or another. That’s why the underground was established. If no one else will help, we have to take care of ourselves.”

  With more determination than she actually felt, Maggie reached for the envelope, stuffing it into the pocket of her coat.

  The dark-haired woman continued. “Just remember, use cash until you can establish accounts in your new name. It would be best if you didn’t stay in California. Most women feel more comfortable putting as much distance as they can between themselves and their abuser.”

  “I understand,” Maggie said, fighting an unexpected churning in her stomach.

  “And Maggie—” th
e other woman’s voice was gentle “—once you’re settled, join a support group, get some counseling. You’re going to need some emotional help to get you through this.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Maggie insisted, her voice harsher than she’d intended. Embarrassed, she averted her eyes, refusing to meet the dark-haired woman’s gaze.

  “It’s okay,” the woman said softly. She glanced questioningly at her friend.

  The redhead shook her head. “She wasn’t followed.”

  The dark-haired woman nodded. “We’re ready, then. Let’s get your things out of the car.”

  As instructed, Maggie had packed light One suitcase each for her and Kevin. Feeling like the fugitive she’d soon become, using the cover of the night, she’d left behind a beautiful home and a closet full of designer dresses. Maggie had no regrets. The clothes, the house, the expensive car, they all represented a life that was beautiful only on the outside. Inside it was ugly at its core.

  With quiet efficiency, the bags were transferred from the BMW to the Ford. Her son was next. Gently Maggie lifted Kevin from the BMW and buckled him into the front seat of the Ford. His head slumped to one side, setting his glasses slightly askew. Exhausted from this midnight rendezvous, he never awoke.

  The dark-haired woman handed her the keys to the Ford. “We’ll drive your car back to the city and leave it at the airport. They’ll find it eventually. But by the time they do, you’ll be long gone. If we’re lucky, they’ll think you left the country.”

  Without another word to Maggie, she strode to the BMW, preparing to leave. The redhead was already in the front seat, taking Kevin’s place. Things were happening too quickly. Maggie felt a surge of panic fill her chest.

  “W-wait,” she stammered. The woman turned, glancing at her sharply. Maggie felt heat flush her cheeks. “I—I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

  Frowning, the woman said, “We got your money. You’ve already reimbursed us for the car and the IDs.”

  “No, I mean...I don’t know how to thank you.”

  The other woman smiled for the first time. “Have a good life, Maggie. Take care of your son.” With that she climbed into the BMW. The door slammed, echoing in the stillness of the night. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as the car drove away.

  Maggie stared after the fading taillights. A part of her wanted to run after the pair, to stop them, to tell them she’d changed her mind. But she knew that was impossible.

  There was no turning back. In the eyes of the law, she was now a fugitive, a mother who’d kidnapped her own son. Not a mother who was trying her best to protect him.

  Disappearing, becoming a whole new person, was her only chance to survive. It was her son’s only chance at a normal life.

  A distant howl of a coyote broke into her thoughts. The darkness pressed in around her. The air felt suddenly cold, chilling her to the bone. Maggie wrapped her coat snug against her slender frame and hurried to the car.

  Compared to the luxury of the BMW, the Ford seemed sadly lacking. She inserted the key and turned on the ignition. The car chugged to life. Maggie released a grateful sigh of relief. The car worked, which was all that mattered, she told herself.

  With one final glance at her son, she popped the car into gear and headed out into the night and into a new life.

  Chapter 1

  Eighteen months later

  “Kevin, settle down or you’re going to be late for school.”

  Maggie glanced at the excited face of her seven-year-old son with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. It had been a long time, if ever, that she’d seen her son quite so enthusiastic about anything.

  Kevin poked his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose with one finger and blessed her with a gap-toothed grin. “Aw, Mom. I’m not going to be late. I’ve got plenty of time. Did I tell ya’? We’re going to have costumes. Tommy Marshall’s mom is making them.”

  “You told me,” Maggie said, setting a glass of orange juice in front of her son. She ruffled his blond hair, making the stubborn cowlick at his crown stick up even farther than usual. “Eat your cereal.”

  Obediently he scooped a spoonful of raisin bran into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, a frown playing on his young face, Kevin swallowed hard, then said, “Our teacher told us it’s going to be the best second-grade play ever.”

  “I’m sure it will be,” Maggie said, glancing at her wristwatch.

  She had thirty minutes to get her son off to school and herself off to work at the diner. Weather permitting, most days they walked together to their respective destinations. Just one of the many advantages of living in a small town, Maggie mused. She enjoyed the time spent with her son and felt immense relief knowing he was safely in school. At three o’clock, when her shift at the diner was over and school let out, the procedure was reversed.

  Unlike most boys his age, Kevin hadn’t rebelled against this show of maternal protectiveness. But then again, so far, Kevin’s childhood hadn’t been like most other boys. A lump of regret settled in her throat. She reached for her coffee cup and took a sip.

  “You’re going to come, aren’t you?” Kevin demanded.

  Swallowing her coffee and washing down the lingering remnants of unease, she shot him a mock look of indignation. “Of course, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t think of missing my own son’s performance of Father Time welcoming spring.”

  “Sarah Moore’s going to be Mother Earth,” he said, scowling. “I have to sit next to her during the whole play.”

  “Well, I’m sure there’re worse things.”

  “Yeah, I could be a wood nymph and have to run around in tights, tossing spring flowers like Tommy has to do,” he said, giggling.

  Giggling? She stared at him for a moment, too surprised to move. Spontaneous laughter from her son? It had been weeks since she’d witnessed such an event, perhaps even months. Not for the first time, she thanked the day she’d decided to move to Wyndchester.

  Since that fateful night when she’d disappeared to find a new life, they’d moved several times, never staying long in one place. The constant change had been hard on Kevin, eroding his sense of stability. He’d become quiet, withdrawn. But all that changed when they’d moved to Wyndchester.

  Wyndchester was a small town tucked into the rambling hills of the Missouri Ozarks. It was far enough away from the congestion of Branson, yet close enough to share in some of the tourist trade. Visitors on their way to the Las Vegas of the Midwest often stopped in for lunch or a walk through the town’s older historic homes and its collection of quaint antique shops.

  The diner where Maggie worked as a waitress, known for its good food and reasonable prices, was a favorite among the locals. With wages and tips, she made an honest—though not extravagant by any means—living for her and her son. Not quite the income she could have expected from the nursing career she’d abandoned in California. But more important than money, the town afforded her an even more precious gift. Since their arrival, she’d watched in amazement as her son blossomed under the lull of the small town’s peaceful ambiance.

  Even she had begun to relax and feel at home.

  Home. Maggie shot a wistful glance around the small kitchen, taking in its yellowed linoleum floor, faded wallpaper and sagging cabinets. Compared to the oceanfront house with its million-dollar view she’d left behind eighteen months earlier, this little place wasn’t much of a prize. But it served its purpose. It was a roof over their heads and a haven of safety for their travel-weary souls.

  The clock above the sink caught her eye. She tsked. “Kevin, look at the time. Go upstairs and brush your teeth. Scoot, or we’ll be late.”

  Kevin shoveled one last spoonful of cereal into his mouth, then ran for the kitchen door, nearly tripping over shoelaces that never seemed to stay tied. Quickly Maggie packed a sandwich, an apple, chips and juice carton into his lunch bag. She glanced around the small kitchen, searching for his backpack.

  Not finding it, she headed into the hall and called
, “Kevin, is your school bag upstairs?”

  The doorbell rang before he could answer.

  Maggie frowned, glancing anxiously at her watch. Now wasn’t the best time for visitors.

  “It’s up here, Mom,” Kevin called down the stairs as he stood on the landing, hopping on one foot as he tried to tie his shoe on the other.

  “Kevin, you’re going to fall down the steps,” she said, moving toward the door. “Sit down and tie that shoe.”

  A thump on the landing told her he’d taken her advice. Maggie smiled and shook her head, still having a hard time believing it was true. For the first time in months, Kevin was behaving like a normal boy.

  The heavy oak door creaked in protest as she opened it, setting her nerves on edge. She blew out a breath, releasing, the tension, and pasted a smile on her face to greet her visitor.

  And the world dropped out beneath her feet.

  Her worst nightmare came true.

  On her doorstep, in full uniform, stood a police officer.

  The woman answering the door stared at him, her smile wilting, the light in her green eyes fading. She wore a robin’s-egg blue waitress uniform with a white apron. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled back with a blue ribbon. The dusting of freckles on her pale face gave her a very youthful appearance, although he guessed her to be in her late twenties. With a trembling hand, she clutched the door frame, swaying slightly as she leaned against it for support.

  She looked as though she’d seen a ghost.

  As a veteran police officer, Jason Gallagher had seen many different reactions to his appearance at a person’s door, some friendly, some not. He never knew when people might take it into their heads to run. Or if they might reach behind them and grab a gun to welcome him properly. His training kept him attuned to the slightest action that seemed out of place, suspicious.