Second Chance Match Read online

  Oh, he’d been friendly, helpful and kind when he’d had no reason to be any of those things. He’d spent time with her son, complimented her designs and helped her win the approval of the Chatam ladies. He’d teased her and told her about his own experience with abuse. What he had not done was flirt or entice or even touch her, since he’d caught her in his arms after she’d fallen from the ladder.

  She considered that as she stuffed clothes into one of a trio of washers, going over all that Garrett had said or done, and the only conclusion depressed her. Without even realizing it, she’d started spinning romantic dreams out of nothing. How pathetic she was! She had proved Wayne right again. She was useless, at least when it came to men. That gave her all the more reason to keep her distance from Garrett. If not, she risked making an even bigger fool of herself than she had already, and she refused to be a heartbroken idiot.

  Pushing Garrett from her mind, she concentrated on preparing clothing so that she and her son could attend church the following day. The last thing she wanted was for either of them, but especially him, to be self-conscious in God’s house.

  “He’ll be all right, you know.”

  The sound of Garrett’s voice so close by Jessa’s ear had startled her, even though she had been painfully aware of him all during the ride from Chatam House to the church. To her surprise, Garrett, not Chester, had driven the town car that morning because the rest of the staff attended a different church.

  Jessa turned back to the glass wall enclosing the Sunday School room to see a teacher gently urge Hunter to join a group of children coloring at a table. He waved a little, and gave a shadow of a nervous smile before allowing himself to be ushered to a chair at the table. She smiled, turning away from the window and back to Garrett.

  “I know. Hunter will do fine. He’s a little shy is all.”

  Slipping a hand into the outside pocket of her small handbag, she brushed her fingertips over the colored tag with which she would reclaim her son. The attendant at the door of the children’s Sunday School suite had assured her that only the bearer of that tag, the twin of which was clipped to the belt loop of Hunter’s blue jeans, could pick up her son after the service.

  “You’ll be fine, too,” Garrett assured her, nudging her down the hall with a hand placed against the small of her back. Jessa felt his touch all the way to the marrow of her bones. “Magnolia asked me to point the way to the ladies’ Bible Study since you seemed reluctant to join her and her sisters,” he explained.

  “It’s not that I’m reluctant,” Jessa said, though it was. She knew that she and Hunter should attend church regularly, but her marriage had left her with more than one kind of bitterness.

  She couldn’t really blame the pastor or the other churchgoers where she had attended with Wayne for thinking that he was a man of stellar character because he hid his true self so well. Nevertheless, it had been her church, too, so she had expected support and encouragement when the truth had come to light. Instead, she had been avoided and viewed with suspicion, as if she had fooled them, too. Still, it had hurt. Churches, however, were not all the same. Rather like men.

  She shook her head and said, “It’s just strange.”

  “Hopefully not for long,” he replied.

  Nodding and shrugging at the same time, she let him steer her through the hallways.

  “Listen,” he said, “I heard Hypatia warn you that they ‘eat simple’ on Sundays, and I thought perhaps I ought to explain that.”

  “I did wonder what it meant,” she confessed.

  “They don’t want the staff working on this day of rest, you see, so Hilda usually puts up something on Saturday, and the Chatam sisters get it on the table themselves and clean up afterward. Even Kent pitches in. I, however, am strictly forbidden.” He grinned as if that pleased him mightily. Jessa couldn’t help smiling in response.

  They turned a corner and came to a door. “Here it is,” he said, “the Esther class. I’ll meet you after and walk you to the sanctuary for worship,” he promised.

  Jessa went in to find that the Bible study was just about to get underway. After a warm welcome, Jessa found that she enjoyed the discussion. An hour later, she filed out of the room in the midst of a dozen or so other women in her general age range to find Garrett waiting for her.

  “Well?”

  She had to smile. “Very well, thank you.”

  He chuckled. “This way.”

  They ambled toward the sanctuary, a soaring masterpiece of white stucco, stained glass, dark wood and brass. Much larger than the spare, plain space in which she was used to worshiping, the church made Jessa feel even more small and humble than usual. Garrett edged into an already crowded pew, making softly spoken introductions.

  Hub was the elder brother of the triplets and a retired minister. His daughter Kaylie and her husband, Stephen Gallow, nodded at Jessa with open curiosity, while Reeves Leland, a nephew, and his wife, Anna, complimented Hunter’s patience with their daughter, Gilli. Everyone moved over to make room, but eleven bodies were crammed onto what proved to be a ten-person pew. Garrett lifted an arm and draped it about Jessa’s shoulders in an obvious effort to ease the crowding for everyone.

  When Abby waved to her, Jessa considered moving. “Maybe I should sit with Abby,” she whispered, but Garrett shook his head.

  “It’ll be just as crowded there.”

  Jessa stayed where she was. She had trouble concentrating at first, pressed so closely to Garrett’s side, but gradually she relaxed, and as the pastor delivered his message, she began to apply it to herself.

  Worry was useless, he said. So, why worry when she and Hunter were in a secure, comfortable place? Grow where you are planted, he said. Neither staff nor family, she realized that she need not be only a guest at Chatam House, either. She could help out, starting with lunch today, then she’d look for other ways to lend her aid, so that when the time came to part, she would not feel terribly beholden and the inevitable parting would be that much easier. Wouldn’t it?

  Chapter Eight

  Jessa rose encouraged at the end of the service, convinced that she could contribute to the household and still maintain enough emotional distance that she wouldn’t be hurt when these friendships faded away. When Hunter ran to her at the door of the small chapel where his age group worshiped, he happily waved a farewell to new friends, inducing Jessa to drop to her knees and hug him. They would be fine without Garrett and the Chatams, she assured herself, but Hunter had more immediate concerns.

  “I’m hungry!” he announced loudly, eliciting chuckles from Garrett who had again shown Jessa the way.

  Once they arrived back at Chatam House, Jessa hurried to change her clothes and get to the kitchen, where she joined the sisters in putting the midday meal on the table. The food did not disappoint. Hunter approved heartily. She allowed him to go off to the family parlor with Garrett to play video games while she helped the Chatams clean up. Then she and her son quietly excused themselves and went upstairs. They took supper, prepared by Jessa herself from the lunch leftovers, in their suite.

  The afternoon and the evening passed sedately, as it had for months now, with just her and Hunter to entertain themselves. No walking on eggshells. No guarding against a volatile outburst. Yet, for the first time, a strange restlessness marred Jessa’s enjoyment of their hard-won peace. She told herself that it would pass, that she was merely anxious to move into their own place. The restlessness followed her to bed, however, where she tossed and turned for hours, not worrying, not even thinking, really. Still, she could not relax.

  Rising, finally, she drew on jeans and a simple T-shirt, then went out in her bare feet, leaving the door to the suite open, to wander the darkened house silently. She found no rest in any of the rooms, and her thoughts naturally turned to the greenhouse with all its flowering bea
uty. Suddenly, she craved the smell and feel of growing things. Wondering if Garrett left the greenhouse unlocked, she slipped outside and across the artfully broken paving.

  The door swung open at her touch, and she stepped inside. Utter blackness enveloped her, but after a few moments, her eyes began to adjust. She made out the shapes of the potted trees well enough to pass through them. Humidity misted the darkened glass walls and raised dampness on the back of her neck. Sweeping the long fall of her heavy hair over one shoulder, she moved through the plants until she reached the workbench where Hunter had broken the pot. Standing motionless in the small space, she breathed deeply of the flowery perfume.

  Suddenly, a black shape resolved out of the night. She knew instantly who it was and realized with dismay that he had drawn her like a lodestone.

  “I’m not the only one who couldn’t sleep, it seems,” Garrett said softly.

  She shook her head, but her feet refused to budge, even as she made her excuses. “I—I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t know anyone would be in here.”

  “Come and join me,” he said.

  She sensed movement, then a hand appeared, faint in the darkness. Her own hand rose to meet it. Strong fingers grasped her smaller ones, his big palm cupping hers. His hand tugged, and she was lost, her feet following.

  She spied a pair of plastic five-gallon buckets turned on end with a board placed atop them to form a bench. Chuckling, Jessa allowed herself to be seated. He sat down next to her, their backs to the glass walls.

  “I come here at night sometimes,” he told her, “to smell the earth and the plants. It soothes me.”

  She shot him a surprised glance, but the room was too dark to make out more than the dim silhouette of his profile.

  “I understand,” she said and heard his smile.

  “I know you do.”

  He breathed in deeply, letting the air out in a long, slow sigh. “Feel that,” he whispered. “Life all around us.”

  “Yes.”

  “I missed it so much,” he whispered so softly that she wasn’t sure she’d understood him correctly.

  He leaned his head back against the glass and closed his eyes. After a moment, she did the same. Her soul quieted, and her muscles relaxed. She felt the life that Garrett had spoken of earlier and something more, a belonging, a likeness, a sense of being in the right place. She wondered if she ought to stock more potted arrangements in her shop and envisioned a series of carefully chosen plant combinations. She’d need to do some research, she decided. Her last thought as consciousness drifted away was that she could always ask Garrett.

  Glancing at the pearl face of the tiny watch pinned to her lapel, Hypatia sighed. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon.”

  “Are you sure she knows?” Odelia asked Magnolia. “I’ve hardly seen the dear girl since Sunday.”

  “I told Jessa myself this morning what time we would leave for prayer meeting,” Magnolia reported.

  “I’ll find her,” Garrett volunteered grimly.

  Jessa had avoided the entire household like the plague ever since she’d awakened with her head on his shoulder Sunday night. He had sat there against the steamy wall of the greenhouse, listening to her even breathing and talking to God about her until his back had stiffened and ached so abominably that he’d had to shift his weight. That had awakened Jessa. He would never forget the horror on her face or how she bolted from his side. He’d chased after her, afraid to call out in the dead of night, but by the time he’d reached the greenhouse door, she had disappeared.

  He sometimes wondered if he’d dreamed the whole thing. Since then, he’d caught only glimpses of her. Wherever he went, she had just left, and she never so much as acknowledged his knock upon the door of her suite, even when he knew that she was in there. Most galling of all, she’d kept Hunter out of his sight, too.

  Turning for the kitchen, he strode down the hall. Hilda would know where to find Jessa if anyone did. He’d heard tales of her helping Carol clean out the linen closets and dust the attics. She’d even folded laundry and haunted Hilda in the kitchen, asking to be taught to cook and washing the dishes afterward. She was obviously attempting to earn her keep—and avoiding everyone else, him especially, in the process. Well, Garrett had had enough of being treated like a threat to her very existence, and the Chatams certainly did not deserve her behavior. It was time to get a few things straight with the lovely Jessa Lynn Pagett.

  Thankfully, he didn’t have to look farther than the kitchen. She stood at the sink, up to her elbows in sudsy water.

  “It’s fine,” she was saying to Hilda. “You and Carol go on. I’ll finish up here.”

  Hilda turned to Garrett, her pocketbook dangling from her elbow. “Since I don’t have a rope to throw around her and drag her away from that sink, I guess I’ll get on to the midweek meeting.”

  Jessa glanced around to see whom Hilda was addressing then went back to industriously scrubbing a broiler pan. Garrett smiled at Hunter, who sat at the kitchen table with a coloring book and crayons, looking woebegone and uncertain.

  “Leave your things there and run out to the front door,” Garrett instructed the boy calmly. Jessa whirled around, splattering the floor with dishwater. “The misses are waiting for you,” Garrett went on, warning Jessa with his gaze not to interfere. “Go on with them. Your mom will come with me.”

  Without so much as a glance at his mother, Hunter hopped out of his chair and ran from the room. Sparks filled the air, flying between them like bullets at the O.K. Corral.

  “Just where do you think you’re sending my son?” she demanded once Hunter was safely out of earshot.

  “Same place I’m taking you,” Garrett answered. “Prayer meeting.”

  Her mouth flattened into a straight line. “I told Hilda I would finish—”

  “Look,” Garrett interrupted her, “just because you fell asleep on my shoulder, it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I never thought…” she said softly, averting her gaze as color warmed her cheeks. “I apologize for putting you in an uncomfortable position.”

  “Don’t,” he barked. “I wasn’t uncomfortable.” Well, not in the manner she meant. Disconcerted by how long he’d been willing to sit there in pain just to feel her head on his shoulder, he cleared his throat and changed tactics. “The Chatams give generously to everyone who wanders by, and they ask very little in return, only that their generosity be accepted in the same spirit in which it is given,” he lectured. “They don’t expect their guests at Chatam House to work like staff. They would take that, in fact, as an insult. If you really want to please them, you’ll come along with me to prayer meeting. You see, while they pride themselves on their generosity, they’d rather know you’re grateful to God than to them.”

  Jessa’s gaze dropped like a stone in a well. “I am grateful to both,” she said, turning back to rinse the pan and stack it to dry. “I just like to keep busy is all.”

  “Busy enough to avoid me,” he snapped.

  She stilled then went on with her chore, rinsing several more dishes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you?” he asked. “Then I suppose you’re working to ensure your place here at Chatam House.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” she insisted, shaking her head.

  “Then what are you doing? Trying to fulfill some need that doesn’t exist?”

  She bowed her head and after a long moment said, “You’re right. This is more about me not being beholden to the Chatams than filling any need here at Chatam House.” She reached into the water and pulled the plug from the drain, then dried her hands on a towel as she turned to face him. “It’s ungrateful and foolish,” she went on softly, “and I admit that I’ve avoided you from embarrassment.”


  “There’s no need for that,” he told her gruffly, but still she kept her gaze averted. He swallowed and plunged on. “You never have to be embarrassed with me. Don’t you know that yet? Certainly not over something so innocent.”

  She said nothing to that, merely set aside the towel. “Give me a moment to change.”

  “You’re fine as you are,” he told her, then abruptly added, “better wear a jacket, though. We’re taking the bike.”

  “Bike?” she echoed.

  “As in, motorcycle,” he informed her, having only just decided.

  A light flashed in her dark eyes, and for a heartbeat he thought that she would balk, but then her gaze hardened resolutely and she stalked past him to shove through the kitchen door. Wondering why he’d done such a stupid thing, Garrett hurried out to gather his gear and roll the bike out of the garage. She admitted to wanting to avoid him, and he forced her into even closer proximity.

  Way to go, Willows, he told himself morosely.

  She joined him mere moments after he pushed the bike to the front of the house. Wearing slender jeans and a short denim jacket over a simple T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a long ponytail at the nape of her neck, she looked about sixteen, young, fresh, breathtaking. He plunked the extra helmet on her head unceremoniously and fastened the chinstrap before donning his own and mounting the seat. She gingerly settled behind him. He kick-started the engine, then heeled back the stand.

  “Hold on.”

  She didn’t move a hair, so he reached back with his left hand, found her arm and pulled it around him. He revved the engine and kicked the bike into gear. At the last possible instant, her right arm banded about his waist and she leaned forward, snugging her front against his back. She could just see over his shoulder, he realized, and rode as easily on the back of his bike as if it had been fitted to her. His chest swelled with such longing that he felt the imprint of the zipper on his protective leather jacket.