by Irene Hannon
“I remember how horrified I was when he barreled straight for you.” Rachel couldn’t help cringing as Bandit leaped in the air and snatched the Frisbee, a replay of their first disastrous encounter running through her mind.
“And I remember how you made it very clear he wasn’t your dog—after you stared at my leg.”
She gave him a cheeky grin. “I still stare at your legs—for a different reason now.”
One side of his mouth hitched up. “I think that’s supposed to be a guy’s line.”
“Too late. I stole it.”
“So is that some kind of come-on?” Fletch took the Frisbee from Bandit after the dog skidded to a stop beside him.
“Why ever would you think that?” Rachel batted her eyelashes at him.
Fletch gave that slow, deep chuckle she loved, then examined the Frisbee. “You know, I think we should preserve this. Maybe even frame it. It’s the stuff of family legend. Someday our grandchildren would probably get a big kick out of the story behind it.”
Rachel gaped at him.
Grandchildren?
This from the man who’d set the snail pace in their relationship? Who redirected conversations whenever they veered too close to topics like this?
Slowly Fletch reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a small, velvet jewelry box.
Her heart stumbled.
“I intended to wait until Christmas for this, but I have to confess my patience wore thin. However, if you want me to keep it for another month, I can do that.”
“No!” Her response came out in a squeak, and she cleared her throat. “My patience is on its last legs, too.”
“I don’t want to rush you, Rachel.” His tone grew more serious. “I want you to be sure.”
“I was sure four months ago.”
He searched her eyes, and his own warmed. Then he flipped up the lid to display a stunning marquise-shaped diamond flanked by three smaller diamonds on each side.
“Wow.” Rachel stared at the ring, the facets of the stones sparkling in the island sun.
“Does that mean it meets with your approval?”
“That would be a safe conclusion.”
A quiver ran through the fingers of the steadiest man she knew as he removed the ring. After slipping the box back into his pocket, he took her hand. “I’ve been waiting all my life for this day.”
At his husky words, pressure built in her throat. “We only met in July.”
“I know. But I always believed there was a woman for me out there somewhere, and that in God’s time I’d meet her, we’d fall in love, marry and raise a family. It was supposed to be simple and straightforward—until Afghanistan complicated things.”
A flicker of distress tightened his features, and Rachel lifted her hand to smooth the creases from his brow. “We can make things simple again, Fletch. Because in the end, love is all that matters. And I love you with all my heart.”
He gave her an amused look. “You stole my line again.”
“You can say it, too.”
“I will.” He lowered himself to one knee—only to have Bandit nose in, hoping for more fun and games. Fletch eased him back with a gentle but firm hand. “Go chase the sand crabs, Bandit. I have some important business to take care of here.”
Head drooping, the retriever skulked a few feet away and plopped down on the sand, regarding them with a doleful expression.
Fletch looked up at her, and the love shining in his eyes took her breath away even before he spoke the words. “The truth is, you’re the woman I’ve been waiting for, Rachel. You’re loving and kind and smart and compassionate and giving and fun to be with—the whole package, beautiful inside and out. I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone, and I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without you. So,” he lifted her hand, “would you...”
Once more, Bandit nosed in to sniff at the ring poised over Rachel’s finger.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Rachel sent her aunt’s dog an exasperated scowl. “Go away, Bandit!” She flung the Frisbee as hard as she could, and as he took off running she redirected her attention to the man on one knee in front of her. “If I’d known this was in your plans for the day, I’d never have brought him.”
Fletch, good sport that he was, just grinned. “Another story to tell our grandchildren. Where were we?”
“Here.” She wiggled her finger.
“Right.” Once more he positioned the ring. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he took a deep breath. “Rachel Shaw, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Above the crash of the surf and the caw of the gulls, she was certain she heard violins.
“Yes.” Though the word came out breathless, it rang with conviction.
Fletch slid the ring onto her finger, started to rise—and then pitched toward her as a mass of golden fur bumped him from behind.
The next thing Rachel knew, she was lying in the sand, tangled in Fletch’s arms. Beside them, Bandit dropped the Frisbee on the beach.
“This is so not how I expected your proposal to go, whenever it came.” Despite herself, Rachel couldn’t quash the chuckle bubbling up inside.
Fletch rolled over and propped himself up one elbow next to her. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Nope.” She twisted her head and looked at his strong, handsome face, framed against the cloudless blue sky.
“I’m sorry about that. It’s not the way I expected things to go, either.”
“The outcome’s the same, though.” She lifted her hand and wiggled her finger. “And lying on the sand with a handsome SEAL isn’t such a bad end to a proposal. It’s kind of like that beach scene in From Here to Eternity.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. I think.” Out of the corner of her eye she caught Bandit creeping close again.
“As for you...” Rachel gave him a stern frown. “Go. Away. Now. Sit. Stay.”
Apparently her no-nonsense tone convinced the retriever there would be no more frivolities—for him. Heaving what sounded like a disgruntled snuffle, he marched off, turned and stretched out to catch some rays, facing away from them.
Rachel smiled back at Fletch. “You’re on. Let’s seal this engagement with a proper kiss.”
He leaned over and traced her lips with a fingertip, sending a delicious shiver up her spine. “You know, Gram and Aunt El could very well be up in the sky room watching us.”
“That thought did occur to me. So why don’t we give them something to watch, since they instigated this whole thing?”
Fletch moved in close, until his lips were a whisper away and his breath was warm on her cheek. “I like how you think.”
Smiling, Rachel put her arms around his neck and tugged. “Prove it.”
And as the palms trees swayed above them, he did just that.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE BACHELOR MEETS HIS MATCH by Arlene James.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Jekyll Island, a beautiful barrier island off the coast of Georgia that holds many happy memories for me.
As I prepared to write this book, I traveled back to this special place, wanting to refresh my memories—and hoping it was the way I remembered it. I’m happy to say, in a very positive way, that this Golden Isle still remains largely untouched by the outside world.
In Second Chance Summer, Rachel and Fletch come to the island for reasons that have nothing to do with romance. But God has other plans in mind for them—plans that don’t necessarily fit with their own. And isn’t that how it often is? God throws us a curveball that ends up leading to a home run.
I hope you enjoy your visit to my magical island—and reading about this special couple—as much as I enjoyed writing the story.
Please check my website at www.irenehannon.com for more information about my other books, or follow me on Facebook. And do join me for another captivating romance or romantic suspense novel soon!
Questions for Discussion
What was your favorite moment in the opening scene? Why? Have you ever met someone under less-than-ideal circumstances? How did that color your impression of the person going forward?
Madeleine’s story seems to have a happy ending, but do you know any children like her, whose parents are too busy with their own lives and careers to give enough time to their offspring? How might that affect the child in the future?
How did you feel about Madeleine’s mother initially? Did your feelings change after you learned about her background? Why or why not?
Losing a leg—or coping with any disability—is a huge challenge. Why was Fletch able to overcome his impediment and lead a normal life?
In light of the couple’s respective tragedies, why do you think Rachel’s faith remained strong and Fletch’s faltered? How would you counsel someone who is going through a tough time and whose faith is eroding?
In the end, Rachel gives up her dream of carrying a child. Do you think she will ever regret this? Why or why not? Support your answer with examples from the book.
The island church’s Francis House project was designed to help deserving families who wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford a vacation. Have you ever been involved in a project that you believed was a living testament to your faith?
Lisa, the wife of Fletch’s SEAL partner, has decided her husband would want her to live fully rather than mourn his death forever. Based on what she told Fletch, do you think she was right? Why do people often feel guilt about moving on after the loss of a loved one?
Fletch was faced with a horrendous decision in Afghanistan—kill people who were possibly innocent or risk being killed. How would you feel if you were in that situation? What long-term repercussions might that kind of pressure have on a person’s life?
The author says in her dedication and letter that Jekyll Island holds a special place in her heart. Do you have a place like that? Where is it, and what makes it so special?
Eleanor and Louise are well into their senior years when they meet and strike up a friendship. At one point, Louise says, “Funny how you can go through your whole life and then, in the last stages, find the best friend you ever had.” Have you had different best friends throughout your life? Why do you think friendships change? Do you have a friend you’ve known your whole life?
The jasmine vine appears in several memorable scenes, and that scent will be indelibly etched in Rachel’s and Fletch’s memories. Is there any scent that brings back memories for you? Talk about that.
What is the one thing you will most remember about this book? Why?
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired story.
You believe hearts can heal. Love Inspired stories show that faith, forgiveness and hope have the power to lift spirits and change lives—always.
Enjoy six new stories from Love Inspired every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
Chapter One
“Oh, Professor Chatam, I was sooo hoping to get an appointment as your teaching aide.”
Morgan smiled warily at the young woman batting her eyelashes at him and gave his pat answer. “I only hire male teaching aides. It’s school policy. Male professors hire male aides. Female professors hire female aides. It’s entirely fair because we maintain gender parity among our professors.”
The pretty, if somewhat showy, brunette folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. “Awww. Isn’t there something I can do for you? You wouldn’t have to pay me.”
Morgan stiffened his smile. “I can’t think of a thing. But thanks for asking.”
Gideon Modesta, the chair of the School of Theology at Buffalo Creek Bible College, came to the rescue, clapping a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Great party, Morgan. As usual.”
Nodding to the young lady, Morgan closed the lid on the grill that he tended on the patio of Chatam House, the antebellum mansion owned by his aunties, triplets in their seventies, and turned to face his good friend.
“Thanks, Gideon. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“But of course. Your graduate student mixers always start off the new semester happily.”
The disappointed female student finally turned and melted into the throng of young people and faculty chatting beside the pool. Gideon chuckled.
“Poor child has no idea that rule about teaching aides was instituted for your benefit. Must be tiresome being the campus heartthrob year after year.”
“Oh, stop,” Morgan chided as Gideon mopped his beaded brow with the towel draped about his neck. It might be the second day of September, but the daytime temperature, true to central Texas, hovered at ninety-four degrees. “I’m forty-five years old. For most of our students, that makes me positively ancient.”
“In other words, only half of the female population at BCBC is now in love with you at any given time,” Gideon said drily. “What a terrible comedown for you. How do you bear up?”
Morgan replied in kind. “I indulge my worst habits, of course. I climb on the fastest motor with two wheels I can find and hit an oval track. You’d be amazed how speed can blow the cobwebs out of your mind and narrow your priorities.”
Gideon grimaced. “What you need is a wife. Not only would she put a stop to that reckless streak of yours, she’d lay out your priorities for you. Mercedes says it’s time to serve those burgers, by the way.”
Morgan laughed. Everyone knew that Gideon’s wife, Mercedes, gave her husband little rest and also that they adored each other. He looked to his fellow cook, Chester Worth, the majordomo at Chatam House. Chester checked his watch, nodded.
“As usual,” Morgan said, lifting the lid on his grill to poke at the beef patties with a spatula, “Mercedes is right.” Waving the spatula over his head, Morgan shouted, “Chow’s on!”
As students, department heads and spouses began lining up, he slid a thick, char-grilled patty of juicy beef onto the bun and plate that appeared in Gideon’s hands, then handed a spatula to one of his department professors so the serving could go twice as quickly. Hilda, the cook and housekeeper at Chatam House and Chester’s wife, joined her husband in dispensing burgers from his grill. When all of those in line had been served, Morgan transferred the remaining hamburger patties to a warming shelf before calling for quiet.
“Let’s give thanks.”
In moments, all had grown still and bowed their heads. Morgan spoke a short prayer, thanking God for those present, the fellowship and the food. He asked God for a special blessing for his generous aunts, then requested that God guide students and educators alike, performing His will in each of their lives, to His glory and honor, before closing in the name of Christ Jesus. After a chorus of amens, he checked the buffet table and saw that the iced tea jug was running low. Good. It would give him a moment of peace and quiet away from the bustle of the party.
Cordés Haward, the diminutive provost of BCBC, stopped him at the door, laden plate in one hand and glass of lemonade in the other. “It’s good of your aunts to open their house to us for this fete,” the small middle-aged man said, the black eyes bequeathed him by his Puerto Rican mother sparkling. He saluted the distant figure of Morgan’s aunt Hypatia, as spry as ever in her mid-seventies, with his lemonade.
Morgan chuckled. “You know how they feel about the college.”
“Indeed, I do. What blessings t
hey have been to us.”
“I’ll be sure to tell them you said so.” With that, Morgan pushed open the multipaned glass door and passed into the cheery sunroom. A long, narrow space filled with greenery and colorful tropical-print cushions that softened the sturdy bamboo furniture, the bright area could be warmed by a large rock fireplace at one end, so it was used year-round as a breakfast room.
As Morgan moved toward the butler’s pantry that separated the sunroom from the kitchen, he saw a young woman sitting quietly at a glass-topped table, nursing a disposable cup of lemonade. Slight and pale, with short, spiky reddish-brown hair, she had the biggest, most soulful gray eyes that Morgan had ever seen. Set beneath horizontal brows in an oval face with a delicate, pointed chin, a small, plump mouth and a short, straight nose, they were the color of an overcast sky. Something more than her obvious beauty made Morgan look twice—an aloneness, a solitude set her apart from the others in a way that the walls of the sunroom could not. Arrested by the sight, he found himself at a standstill. He could not, in fact, seem to go forward again without engaging her somehow.
“Heat too much for you?” he asked conversationally.
She tilted her head in noncommittal reply, the slender column of her neck seeming too delicate to support the weight of her pretty head, and ran a fingertip around the rim of her drink. She was young, obviously a student, but she didn’t dress like the other girls in grungy, low-slung jeans and layered tanks or bathing suits and sarongs. He took in the neat white capris and simple shapeless pale green collared blouse that she wore buttoned to the throat, the long sleeves rolled to her elbows, tail untucked. Though of good quality, her clothing seemed too large for her. Even her white leather sandals swallowed her dainty feet. Mystery wrapped around her like a shroud, but it was her cool self-possession in the face of his obvious perusal that truly intrigued him. He tried another conversational gambit.