Second Chance Match Read online

  She’d thought that she and Hunter were finally going to get their lives together, but no. That Willows guy thought this was his house. And maybe it was. Talk about your major complications.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, why did he have to be so good-looking, too? The last thing she needed in her life was another handsome man, especially one with electric blue eyes—and a claim on her property. This house here on Charter Street was the perfect place for her to open her florist shop and make a home for Hunter. For a couple hours, she’d thought God had answered her prayers, only to have her hopes dashed.

  “Well, what else is new?” she asked herself, scrubbing away fresh tears. It wasn’t as if God had ever really listened to her, after all.

  At least she and Hunter had a place to spend the night. They’d already overstayed their welcome at Abby’s retirement complex, which restricted guests to visits no longer than four nights in a row.

  Jessa shuddered to think what they’d have done without Abby, who was an old friend of her mom’s. When Jessa had finally gathered the courage to leave behind her old life and rebuild here in Buffalo Creek, Abby had not only offered temporary sanctuary, she’d come after them in her old car. She had even thought of the Monroe place for them, having seen a change of zoning notice in the local newspaper. Her personal connection with Ellie Monroe had made the idea seem heaven-sent. Jessa had reached an agreement with Ellie about leasing the place even before she’d seen inside the house, but as soon as she’d walked through the front door, a sense of well-being had come over her, a feeling of home.

  So much for that.

  Not that she would just roll over and give up. She’d fought fiercer battles, after all. No, she was going to stay, at least for the night, at Chatam House. With the Monroes. And find a way to plead her case. The worst that could happen was that she’d get her money back, some of it, anyway.

  Sighing, she dropped her head into her hands. Oh, why, had she let herself spend hard-earned cash on ladders and such to fix up the house, a house that might not even be hers? She groaned aloud, thinking of the business license for which she’d applied that very day. Why couldn’t she have waited until the papers on the house had been signed?

  The pounding of small feet on bare hardwood jerked her from her pit of regret. She rubbed her face with her hands and put on a smile just as her six-year-old son, Hunter, burst into the room from the kitchen, his shaggy, nut-brown hair flopping.

  “Mommy! Abby teached me my lessons already.”

  “Taught, not teached,” Jessa corrected, opening her arms. Hunter collided with her in a glancing hug. “Wasn’t that nice of Abby to take over your schooling for the day?”

  “Uh-huh,” Hunter replied absently. He seemed much more interested in the bits of paper littering the place, dragging the toes of his canvas shoes through them. “It snowed.”

  Jessa chuckled. “Kind of. Unfortunately, this snow won’t melt. It has to be swept up.”

  Abby appeared in the doorway. She glanced around, remarking, “I see you’ve made some progress.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Jessa told her glumly. Pointing Hunter toward the kitchen and the laundry room beyond, she instructed the boy to see if he could find the broom and dustpan. He ran off to do so, giving Jessa the chance to inform Abby of the mix-up with the house.

  “Good grief,” Abby commented, the wrinkles in her square face deepening as she considered the situation. She ran a hand over her short, thin, salt-and-pepper hair. “What are you going to do?”

  “We’ve been invited to stay at Chatam House,” Jessa said, reaching out for the broom as Hunter ran up, dragging it behind him.

  “Chatam House!” Abby exclaimed. “By whom?”

  “Magnolia Chatam. She said to tell you hello.”

  Abby’s thin eyebrows lifted upward, creating a series of grooves in her forehead. “Magnolia is one of the Chatam triplets. We worked together on a panel for the Historical Society.”

  Jessa had heard all about the Historical Society. With some three hundred buildings of historical significance in town, the society wielded a good bit of influence.

  “And who is the man again,” Abby asked, “the one who says this is his house?”

  That moment when Garrett Willows had caught her in his arms swept over Jessa. She’d been perched near the top of the ladder, reaching for a long strip of paper that dangled just above her head, and the next thing she’d known the ladder had rocked and she’d been falling. Then suddenly a pair of strong arms had caught her and pulled her safely against a broad, rock-hard chest. She’d felt his heart racing in tandem with hers, and though all fear had swiftly passed, she’d felt an insane urge to loop her arms around his neck. A pleased smile had hovered over her lips as she’d gazed up into his handsome face, and then she had realized that he had made her fall and her good sense had, thankfully, come rushing back. Mortified, she’d scrambled out of his arms and tried to catch her breath.

  Jessa shrugged, as if he hadn’t made much of an impression on her. “Garrett something-or-other.” Abby shook her head, so Jessa went on. “Tallish.” Six feet, at least, maybe an inch or two over. “Black hair.” Thick, coal-black hair that shadowed his square jaws and made his bright blue eyes all the more piercing.

  She shivered. Men that handsome always disturbed her. This one…something about this one frightened her, and it wasn’t just his claim on her home. It was more an odd sense of familiarity coupled with instant attraction.

  “Hmm,” Abby mused, “could be another nephew. There are too many Chatams to shake a stick at, and not just around here, either.” She straightened. A busty woman with skinny legs, she wore a boxy shirt and shorts that displayed bony knees. “Well, it’s all for the good. After a few days at Chatam House, you and Hunter can return to me. That will give us at least a week to find another place for you.”

  “In other words,” Jessa said morosely, “you think he’s going to get this place.”

  Abby opened her mouth as if to deny it, but in the end, she merely sighed. Jessa figured she was right, but she pushed her hopelessness aside.

  No. Not this time.

  She had a verbal agreement with Ellie Monroe, entered into in good faith. Money had changed hands. Not much of it, granted, but money, nonetheless. She had invested in the place already and started scraping off the nasty, stained wallpaper in the butler’s pantry that was so perfect for her purposes. She had every right to this property, and she would not stand by while some man took their home from her and her son. Not again.

  Not ever again.

  Meanwhile, she would plan how best to approach this matter. Looking down at herself, she grimaced. She could start by putting her best foot forward. She hoped Abby had an iron.

  As usual, the tea tray had been prepared while Garrett and the Chatam sisters attended the midweek meeting at the Downtown Bible Church that evening. Hilda, the cook, poured hot water into the silver pot before Garrett carried the tray from the kitchen. Despite the mouthwatering aroma of Hilda’s famous ginger muffins, Garrett felt in a grim mood. Jessa Pagett and her son should have arrived hours ago, but Hilda reported seeing “neither hide nor hair” of their expected guests thus far. Had she decided to stay at the house on Charter Street, after all? He didn’t suppose it mattered, in the end. She was bound to get the place if that’s what Ellie wanted.

  Reaching the elegant foyer, he skirted the sweeping, marble staircase and turned into the large, antique-filled front parlor. It tickled him to see Odelia Chatam cuddled up on the settee with Kent Monroe while Mags and Hypatia pretended not to notice from the wing chairs placed around the low, piecrust table.

  The Chatam sisters, maiden ladies in their mid-seventies, were as different as triplets could possibly be. Hypatia was all silver and silk, as regal as a queen. Odelia could not have been more endearing
in her flamboyant costumes and oversize jewelry, her hair a soft, wild cap of white curls. Kent obviously adored her, but her many nieces and nephews didn’t call her Auntie Od for nothing. Magnolia, on the other hand, his own dear Mags, brought to mind visions of garden spades. Tough and no-nonsense in her funky galoshes and shirtwaist dresses, she possessed a heart of pure gold. As did they all.

  “Here we are,” Hypatia said, turning as Garrett carried the heavy tray to the table.

  “Tea is served,” Garrett announced unnecessarily, his words punctuated by the sound of the brass knocker on the front door.

  “Our new guests have arrived,” Hypatia concluded, as Magnolia moved briskly toward the foyer.

  “About time,” Garrett muttered. Aware that his heartbeat had sped up, he slowly straightened and turned toward the open, doublewide pocket door, parking his hands on his hips just below belt level.

  Several seconds of muted conversation ensued before Magnolia reappeared with Jessa Pagett and a young boy in tow. Mags made short work of the introductions.

  “Allow me to make known to you my sisters, Hypatia and Odelia. Garrett you’ve met. And this…” She waved a hand at Kent, who was even then lumbering to his feet. “Is Kent Monroe. Everyone, this is Jessa Lynn Pagett and her son, Hunter.”

  Jessa had changed into crisp, dark slacks, a tailored, off-white blouse and dress shoes with tall heels. Wisps of light golden-brown hair framed her face, the mass of it having been twisted up in the back. She smiled and nodded, but he felt her wariness.

  The shaggy-haired little boy with her looked to be about four years old and seemed equally curious and uneasy. His plump-cheeked face showed nothing in common with his mother’s triangular one, but his dark, troubled eyes were miniature versions of hers. In his baggy jeans and yellow plaid shirt, he looked like someone Garrett had used to know.

  Himself. After his dad had died.

  Garrett’s heart turned over in his chest. There were other houses, he told himself. And this would not be the first or the last time that he suffered disappointment.

  Chapter Two

  “Won’t you join us?” Hypatia asked from her chair, but Jessa shook her head.

  “Oh, no. Thank you. We wouldn’t want to intrude, and it’s been an eventful day.” She glanced at Garrett, adding, “We’re both tired.”

  A gentleman of the old school, Kent straightened his bowtie before smoothing the hang of his tweedy sport coat over his prodigious belly and clearing his throat. “My apologies, ma’am, concerning the situation on Charter Street.”

  Jessa nodded and offered him a strained smile, her gaze again flitting to Garrett.

  “Well, it will all be sorted soon enough,” Magnolia said, “once Ellie and Asher have a moment to get together with everyone.”

  After seeing the boy, Garrett figured he knew just how it would all sort out.

  “Bad timing,” Odelia opined, smiling at Jessa, “with the weddings and all.”

  Garrett could almost see Jessa Pagett’s ears perk up at that.

  “Weddings?” she echoed.

  “Oh, my, yes,” Kent said with a chuckle. “First Asher and Ellie’s. Then ours.” Reaching down, he took Odelia’s hand in his and bent over it, so far as his prodigious belly would allow, to press a kiss to her knuckles. She chirped like a tree full of magpies. This, in turn, set her earrings aquiver, huge clumps of yellow beads to complement the layers of lemony gauze that she wore belted at her waist with a twist of gold rope.

  Garrett smiled in sheer delight. They were just so happy, and why shouldn’t they be? At their ages, they had put aside the mundane cares that burdened most marriages and looked forward simply to spending the rest of their days together. Odelia was in alt over being a June bride, and Kent was in alt over her, his lost love restored to him after fifty years. Garrett envied them, but at least he enjoyed watching them make calf’s eyes at each other. He could hardly bear to be in the same room with Ellie Monroe and Asher. The two of them together made him feel…lonely. For some reason, his gaze went to Jessa Lynn Pagett, who stood staring at the toes of her shoes.

  The sisters traded looks, then Magnolia said, “Well, we won’t keep you. Garrett, would you mind showing Jessa and Hunter to their rooms? Chester’s already taken their luggage up to the small suite.”

  “My pleasure,” he murmured, moving toward the door.

  The boy reached for the reassurance of his mother’s small hand, shrinking back as if literally frightened of Garrett. Garrett had seen that reaction before, and he did not like what it implied. Carefully, he signaled for mother and son to precede him toward the stairs.

  They climbed the wide, tall spiral of gold marble and mahogany with all the enthusiasm of condemned prisoners. Following behind them, Garrett felt a bit offended on behalf of the Chatam sisters, who were the most generous Christian women he had ever met. If he could never quite bring himself to impose upon their kindness more than he must, well, that was to be expected. He was hired help around here, after all, and his gratitude for that fact would not allow him to forget it, even if his sister had married into the family.

  Soon, he vowed, he would not even be a Chatam employee. One way or another, he would start his business. However, after seeing Hunter Pagett, Garrett could not in good conscience deny that boy a home.

  So be it. If God meant the Monroe place for the Pagetts, then He would surely have another place for Garrett.

  But when?

  “Seriously?” Jessa muttered, emerging from the second bedroom to look around the sitting room. She’d expected a single bedroom with a trundle for Hunter, maybe two connected bedrooms with a bath nearby. This suite of rooms was twice the size of Abby’s apartment! If it had a kitchen, it would equal the house in which she’d grown up. She wouldn’t think of the house that Wayne had insisted on taking in the divorce. It had always meant more to him than to her.

  “I beg your pardon?” Garrett Willows said.

  Jessa turned, smiled wanly and waved a hand. “I—I didn’t expect this.” She glanced around once more, taking in the tasteful cream-and-cocoa décor. The furnishings were a mixture of antiques and modern comfort. A flat-screen TV hung above the fireplace, and Hunter was even now standing in front of it with his mouth hanging open. “It’s too much, frankly.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Garrett conceded with a crooked smile. “And this is the small suite, meaning that it’s the smallest in the house. You have to admit, it’s much smaller than the Monroe place.”

  Jessa couldn’t argue with that. “I guess I’m just a bit…bewildered.”

  “Well, that makes two of us,” Garrett returned. “It’s been quite a day, frankly.”

  “You can say that again,” Jessa muttered, glancing around once more.

  “It’s been quite a day,” Garrett repeated a shade louder than the first time. That elicited a reluctant smile from her.

  “I didn’t mean that you should literally repeat it.”

  “I know.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “Couldn’t resist, though.”

  A chuckle escaped her, and he gave her a genuine smile, obviously pleased to have lightened the mood.

  Oh, this could be dangerous, she thought, forcing the delight from her face.

  “Make yourselves comfortable,” he advised, pretending not to notice, “and don’t hesitate to ask for anything you need.”

  “We’ll be fine,” she said blandly. “Thanks for the help, but don’t let us keep you.”

  Apparently, he was in no mood to be dismissed, however. He narrowed his eyes and folded his arms.

  “If you decide you’d like a little bedtime snack, the kitchen is downstairs at the back of the house,” he informed her. “Hilda keeps the pantry well stocked. Oh, and there’s a dumbwaiter down the hall so you don’t have
to carry heavy trays up and down the stairs.”

  “A dumbwaiter,” she echoed.

  “I can show you how to operate it, if you want,” he offered.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she replied tersely.

  He shrugged. “See you in the morning, then.”

  “Y-you’re staying here?” she asked. She’d been dismayed to find him in the living room with the Chatams. Clearly, he was close to them somehow, but she’d hoped that he wouldn’t be staying. She couldn’t very well plead her case in front of him, after all. It was bad enough that she’d wasted her best outfit, but now to find that she wasn’t about to be rid of him, well, it was enough to make a girl testy.

  “Not here here,” he said, pointing at the floor. “I live in the carriage house.” Great. So, was he renting? Family? Freeloading? She was dying to know.

  He turned to go, then abruptly spun back to face her. “Oh, um, I should point out that there is some construction going on across the landing. Odelia and Kent are reconfiguring some single rooms into a private suite of their own, but you know how it is with old houses. It takes forever to make changes. Shouldn’t disturb you too much.”

  “About those weddings,” Jessa ventured quickly, stepping forward. “I’m a little confused.”

  “It’s very simple,” Garrett said with a grin. “Asher Chatam and Ellie Monroe will wed on the fourth Thursday of May, and Odelia and Kent will marry on the fourth Tuesday of June.”

  “I see.”

  He chuckled. “I know what you’re thinking. A June bride at Odelia’s age. It tickles me every time I think about it.”

  She had been surprised to find that the elderly pair were engaged to marry, but her mother had designed arrangements for more than one such wedding at a local nursing home. Jessa’s concerns, however, featured flowers—and work.