Her Second Chance Family Page 4

An explanation of whom Jason was referring to was unnecessary. Obviously the young woman sporting the diamond was on Stan’s mind. He studied his clenched fists, his usual high spirits gone. “Her name’s Jenny Lewis. She was a couple of years behind me in school.”

  “It appears she’s getting married,” Jason said, watching the other man closely.

  Stan’s face drew into a scowl. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  “Something wrong with that?”

  Stan didn’t answer.

  “She does seem to be on the young side,” Jason mused, leaning back in his seat. “Hell, she looks like a baby. I bet she isn’t old enough to have graduated from high school, let alone get married—”

  “She’s old enough,” Stan interjected, his eyes flashing with anger. Then, flushing deeply, he averted his gaze, staring down at his hands once again. “Old enough to be stupid, that’s for sure.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell across the table.

  Jason reached for his coffee cup, deciding it better to take his chances with the hot brew than to face his officer’s fiery temperament.

  “What the hell is she thinking?” Stan hissed.

  Jason flinched, nearly dropping his cup. The coffee splattered his hands, burning his fingers.

  “I mean, the guy’s a jerk. He’s a real son of a—” He stopped. Glancing around the diner, looking embarrassed by his outburst, Stan’s jaw closed with a snap.

  A response was required, Jason realized, as he dabbed at the spilled coffee with a handful of paper napkins. His stomach churned with unease at the prospect. When he’d taken this job, he hadn’t realized that giving advice to the lovelorn would be one of his duties.

  If only he’d had better luck in the love department himself, he’d feel more equipped to handle the situation. Remembering Maggie’s prohibitive gaze whenever he was near, he sighed. It would seem he was better at scaring a woman off than attracting her.

  Jason cleared his throat. “Officer Wilson...Stan, obviously this girl’s engagement is bothering you. I wish I could give you some advice, but I’m just not sure what—”

  “That’s okay, Chief,” Stan said, looking miserable. “This is something I have to take care of myself.”

  Jason tried not to let his relief show. “Well, if there’s anything I can do...”

  He let the obligatory words fade away. Without thinking, he picked up his cup and took another sip. And felt the heat of the coffee scald his tongue. Swearing softly, he dropped the cup back into its saucer with a clatter.

  This was turning out to be one hell of a day, he thought, heaving another sigh. One hell of a day.

  Chapter 3

  “Our little Jenny’s caught the richest man in town,” Dot said, clucking her tongue in approval. “Doesn’t that beat all?”

  “His daddy’s the richest man in town, Dot,” Jenny said, rolling her eyes. “Joe’s broke. He just graduated from law school. He won’t even start working in his daddy’s law firm until June.”

  Dot persisted. “Yeah, but someday—”

  “Yeah, someday after he passes his bar exam, builds up his clientele, pays off his college loans,” Jenny said, ticking off the list on her fingers. “Believe me, Dot, it’ll be a long time before Joe’ll ever be considered wealthy.”

  “You have to admit, though, the boy definitely has potential,” Dot said, a smile twitching at the corner of her crimson-colored mouth.

  Maggie watched the exchange with an amused eye. Minutes earlier she and Dot had whisked Jenny out of the dining room and found refuge from the prying eyes of the customers in the storage room off the kitchen. They’d been pressing the poor girl for details of her engagement ever since.

  “Dot,” Maggie said, her tone chiding, “give Jenny a break. Money isn’t everything.”

  “Only when you’ve grown up without it, honey,” Dot countered. “There’s nothing romantic about scrimpin’ and savin’ all your life.” She pointed a manicured fingernail at Jenny. “You tell that to your Officer Wilson.”

  “Stan isn’t my Officer Wilson,” Jenny protested.

  Maggie frowned. “Am I missing something? I thought you said you were engaged to Joe Bosworth.”

  “I am,” Jenny said, her cheeks flushing. “Stan’s just a friend.”

  Dot snorted her disbelief.

  “An old friend of the family,” Jenny insisted, raising her chin in stubborn defiance. “I can’t help it if he feels differently.”

  “Hmm,” Maggie murmured.

  “Hmm is right,” Dot said.

  The owner of the diner, Mel—a big man who unsuccessfully hid his baldness beneath a chefs hat—thumped open the door to the kitchen and poked his head into the storage room. Despite his size and trademark gruffness, everyone knew he was a softie at heart. “Orders are stacking up. Let’s finish this break after the rush.”

  Giving a mock bow of subservience, Dot muttered, “Whatever you say, oh great and mighty slave driver.” Then with a wink of her eye and a swing of her hips, she disappeared through the doorway and into the dining room.

  Maggie started to follow.

  Jenny stopped her. “Maggie, wait. rve got something to ask you.”

  “What is it, honey?”

  “It’s about the wedding,” Jenny said. She licked her lips, looking nervous. “I’d like you to be my matron of honor.”

  “Me?” Maggie pressed a hand to her breast.

  “Of course, you,” Jenny said, smiling shyly. “You’ve always been so good to me. I feel like you’re the big sister I never had.”

  Maggie stared at her, uncertain what to say. Just this morning, she’d decided to leave town as soon as Kevin was finished with school. How could she explain to her young friend it was doubtful she’d even be in Wyndchester when the wedding took place?

  “I don’t know, Jenny. Kevin and I, we’ve been talking about going on a vacation later this summer....”

  “That’s okay. The wedding’s in June.”

  “So soon?” Maggie asked, surprised.

  Jenny sighed, nodding toward the door of the dining room. “I know what everybody’s going to say. That it’s a rush wedding. That we had to get married. But that just isn’t so. Joe and I...we haven’t...well, you know.” She gave an embarrassed shrug. “I told Joe I wouldn’t make love to him until we were married. I think that’s why he’s in such a hurry.”

  Maggie smiled. “I think it’s wonderful, Jenny. It takes a lot of willpower to say no to someone you love.”

  “Yeah, well...” Jenny’s troubled gaze flitted away.

  Maggie couldn’t help but think Jenny wasn’t acting like a woman in love with her future husband. She remembered Dot’s mentioning Officer Stan Wilson’s interest in Jenny, warning the girl to keep him at arm’s length. At first, she’d chalked the warning up to just another example of Dot’s endless teasing. Now she wondered if it was true.

  Maggie placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She felt the delicateness of her bone structure, the slight trembling beneath her fingers. “Is there something wrong, Jenny?”

  “No, of course not.” Jenny gave a nervous laugh. “It’s just...Joe’s family, they’re different from mine. They’re the town’s high society. Sometimes Mrs. Bosworth makes me feel uncomfortable, like I’m unworthy of her son.” Jenny looked into Maggie’s eyes, her gaze pleading. “I really could use a friend to stand up for me at the wedding.”

  Maggie hadn’t made many friends in her life, and she had no brothers or sisters. As a child she’d been quiet, introverted, more comfortable with her nose in a book than playing with other children. As an adult she’d been discouraged by her husband from establishing friendships with others. He’d wanted to be the center of her world. There hadn’t been room for anyone else.

  Now this young woman, this child, was reaching out to her, asking her to be a friend. Maggie didn’t want to say no. Her vision blurred as tears threatened. “I’d be honored, Jenny.”

  Jenny smiled, her own eyes misting.
“Thank you, Maggie.”

  “Order up, Maggie,” Mel called through the kitchen door.

  Maggie blotted her eyes with the hem of her apron, giving a self-deprecating laugh at her show of emotion. “Time to get to work before we start blubbering like babies.”

  Together they left the storage room. Jenny took her place at the counter. Maggie humed to collect her order: two Blue Plate Specials, one for the chief of police and one for his officer.

  After the stillness of the storage room, the noise of the diner was a blow to her senses. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, nearly blinding her. Heart hammering, she felt the weight of Jason’s gaze as she returned to his booth. For a moment she felt disoriented, almost dizzy with sensory overload.

  “Enjoy your meal, gentlemen,” she said, placing the plates on the table, not quite meeting the police chief’s eyes. She turned to leave.

  Jason’s deep voice stopped her. “Is everything all right, Ma...Mrs. Conrad?”

  She looked at him, wide-eyed and startled.

  His gaze traveled from her teary eyes to her fluttering hands. “You seem a little upset.”

  “I’m fine,” Maggie said quickly.

  He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “If there’s anything I can do—”

  “No, Chief Gallagher, there’s nothing you can do,” she said, her tone sharper than she’d intended, his concern unnerving her. Once and for all she had to set the boundaries of their nonexistent relationship. She could not allow him to become a part of her life. Gathering her courage, she straightened her shoulders and sent him a determined glance. “I’m twenty-eight years old, not a child by any means. Though I may not have a man in my life to take care of me, that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of taking care of myself.”

  He shifted in his seat. “I didn’t say that you—”

  She didn’t let him finish. “Just because we’re neighbors, Chief Gallagher, doesn’t mean you’re privy to my personal life. I’d appreciate it if you’d mind your own business.”

  With the biting reprimand still hanging in the air, she turned on her heel and strode from the booth.

  Jason stared after her, blinking in surprise.

  Officer Wilson picked up his fork and gave his boss a commiserative glance. Sighing, he said, “Maybe coming to Mel’s wasn’t such a good idea, after all, eh, Chief?”

  Jason did not answer.

  Later that day, as dusk was beginning to fall, Jason was busy taking boxes of unpacked items to his garage for storage. The soft breeze felt cool, just a nip of a chill against his bare arms. From somewhere nearby, the scent of hamburgers grilling on a charcoal fire wafted in the air, teasing his nostrils, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. Even then, he’d barely touched his food. He’d been too angry with his new neighbor to do his appetite justice.

  That afternoon Maggie Conrad had looked him in the eye and had brushed away his concern as though he were nothing more than a pesky fly. In no uncertain terms, she’d told him to butt out of her life.

  Not that what Maggie thought of him mattered, he told himself. The lie struck a discordant note. He nearly dropped the box he cradled in his arms. Using his knee to keep it from slipping from his grasp, he silently cursed the fates that had brought such an obstinate woman into his life.

  Unable to help himself, his gaze darted across the yard to the light that shone like a beacon in Maggie’s window. Swearing softly, he muttered, “Keep movin’, Gallagher. There’s nothing over there that concerns you.”

  The lady of the house had made that much perfectly clear. Not once, but twice in one day. Even a mule knew when to give up a fight.

  He continued across the yard to the unattached garage in the back of the property. His car was parked in the driveway, so the garage stood empty, gathering dust and thick layers of shadows. Using his elbow to maneuver, Jason switched on the light. A bare lightbulb came to life, scarcely making a dent in the darkness.

  Sighing, he stepped into the small building. Last night, he’d arrived too late to do much more than open a suitcase and fall into bed. This afternoon the movers had arrived, dropping off the meager supply of boxes his life comprised. Now he was left with the task of sorting through the mess.

  He’d tackled the job with the enthusiasm he bestowed on most unpleasant chores, like doing the laundry or going to the dentist. The sooner he got it over with the better.

  First he’d unpacked boxes of essentials, things he used on a daily basis, like clothes, dishes and towels. Next on his list were the items delegated as occasional essentials. These included his fishing rod and reel, his collection of Jimmy Buffet tapes and suspense books by his favorite author.

  Last to be taken care of were the nonessentials, which was what he was doing now, storing them in a safe, out-of-the-way place. The box he carried now held memories that were too precious to throw away, yet too painful to have to face on a daily basis—if at all.

  He scanned the garage. There were shelves in the back, wide enough and deep enough to store a large box. He waded through the dust and debris littering the floor, promising himself to give the building a thorough cleaning whenever he got a chance. Cursing, he ducked to avoid the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

  Although it embarrassed him to admit it, he had one irrational fear in life—the common house spider. He could look a man carrying a gun or a knife in the eye without so much as a flinch. But force him to face an eight-legged creature and his knees turned to jelly.

  It had amused his ex-wife no end when she’d discovered his Achilles’ heel. During their divorce proceedings, she’d threatened to use it as leverage when he’d dragged his feet in signing the final papers.

  “Blackmail, pure and simple,” he groused.

  Not that he hadn’t accepted that their marriage was over. They’d been too young and too different for it to have ever worked. The birth of their son was the only thread that had held their marriage together. It didn’t take long for both of them to realize that even their love for Scott wasn’t strong enough to make it last. But Jason was a creature of habit. He’d held on to the marriage like a lifeline. To him, enduring a bad marriage seemed less forbidding than facing a future rife with uncertainty.

  Which probably explained why the death of his son had sent him into such a tailspin. For the life of him, he didn’t know how any man could cope with the fact that one minute he was sending his son off to school and the next hearing a fellow police officer tell him his son had been badly hurt in an accident on the way to the school. He doubted he’d ever recover from the shock.

  A scraping sound startled him.

  With cop-quick reflexes, Jason dropped the box and spun around on his heel. His years on the force had taught him to be wary, even in his own home. Unfortunately his reaction scared the willies out of the young boy who stood in the doorway of his garage.

  Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, his new neighbor stared at him from behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

  “Kevin?” Jason asked, taking a cautious step toward him.

  The boy began to back away, looking ready to sprint for safety.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jason said, keeping his voice low, his tone soothing. “I wasn’t expecting anyone behind me.” He grinned sheepishly. “I thought you might be a spider.”

  “A spider?” The boy’s gaze darted around the garage, as though in search of the little critter in question. He swallowed hard, his pulse beating visibly in his throat.

  “Yeah, I hate spiders,” Jason admitted. “I’ve been unpacking most of the evening. The house has been too quiet. Just me and the sound of my own voice cussin’ whenever I can’t find something I need. It’s got me spooked.”

  He was rambling, talking too much, not making any sense. At least, not to a seven-year-old. But his words were having the desired effect. The tension in Kevin’s face eased some. He closed his mouth and chewed on his lower lip. His eyes now shone with curiosity, rather than fear.


  “My mom’s good at packing and unpacking,” Kevin said finally. “She’s real fast.”

  “That’s great. Maybe she’d like to come over and give me a hand with all my boxes of junk.”

  Kevin shook his head. “I don’t think she’d want to do that.”

  The boy knew his mother well, Jason mused.

  Kevin peered around him, eyeing the box Jason had dropped. “What’s that?”

  Jason turned, noticing for the first time that, in the commotion, the lid had fallen open. The sight of the child’s baseball glove resting on top of the box hit him like a sledgehammer to the gut. Slowly he reached for the glove. It had belonged to his son. He ran a hand over the worn leather. It felt dry, stiff from lack of care.

  “It’s a baseball glove,” he said needlessly. He wasn’t sure what bothered him most, seeing the glove again and along with it the painful memories of his son, or knowing that an item that had once given such a great deal of pleasure was now being stored in a box and wasted. He raised his eyes to look at Kevin. “Would you like to have it?”

  Kevin blinked, obviously surprised by the offer. “I—I don’t know...”

  Jason tucked the glove under his arm and picked up the box. Closing the flaps, he placed it on the shelf, then turned his attention once again to the boy. “Why don’t we discuss it over a soda?”

  Kevin cast a nervous glance across the yard to his house, then looked at the glove. A decision was made in that single exchange. “Okay, just for a little bit.”

  “I’ve got root beer,” Jason said, leading the way.

  “Sounds good,” Kevin said, his voice as somber as a judge.

  Once they reached the back-porch steps, Kevin stopped, refusing to go any farther.

  Jason handed him the glove. “Why don’t you hold on to this while I get the drinks?”

  Kevin nodded, not answering. He took a seat on the bottom step and waited.

  In the kitchen as he poured the sodas, Jason watched the boy turn the glove over and over in his hands and tried to figure him out. The care with which he handled the glove spoke of admiration, respect. His awkwardness told him the boy probably had never held a baseball glove before in his life.