by EMILIE ROSE
He mapped her waist, her back, her buttocks and thighs. She shifted against him, sending lightning bolts though his veins and raising his blood pressure into the stratosphere. His fingertips slipped beneath the elastic of her suit, found her warm crevice moist and hot. Another “Mmm” rumbled through him. Her hands tangled in his hair, making him glad he hadn’t yet gotten his customary summer buzz cut. He liked her holding him and kissing him back.
He needed her. Needed to be inside her. Now.
No. Not now. Thoughts bubbled through the thick stew she’d made of his brain. He wanted Rachel for more than just sex. He wanted the strong, smart, brave woman she’d become. And he wanted her forever.
With that sobering realization, he broke the kiss. Resting his forehead against hers, he labored to catch his breath and do the right thing which was definitely not pulling their suits aside and taking her here in the water.
“Rachel.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Rachel, we can’t do this here.” He stared into her wide, desire-glazed eyes and cursed having to stop a second time. It was the truck all over again. “When I make love to you we’ll be in a bed. I want time to taste every inch of you. I need more than a quick—” He couldn’t use the locker room term with her. “I need...more than just sex with you.”
She stiffened, eyes going wide with panic, then she scrambled away and trod water. “That’s not possible. I need to get back to Chastity.”
She struck out for shore with fast choppy strokes, and he let her go. He’d laid his cards on the table. Convincing her not to leave Johnstonville was going to be his toughest game yet.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MATT WAS OFFERING more than sex. And it terrified Rachel how badly she wanted it. But relationships based on lies never worked. And she couldn’t risk telling Matt the truth. He, his family and Chastity would all hate her for what she’d denied them.
As soon as Matt drifted near the floating island, Rachel dived overboard. She wished she could hide out in the water. How could she look the others in the eyes knowing how close she’d been to naked just moments ago? Where was her hard-won self-discipline?
Would Matt expect to pick up where they’d left off when he took her home today? Of course, that wasn’t possible with Chastity in the house—especially with how Chastity felt about Rachel and Matt getting together.
Disappointment weighted her chest. And the added fact that Matt had exercised more control than she had was mortifying. From the moment he’d kissed her, she’d been oblivious to their surroundings.
Matt ending the embrace when she’d been easy pickings only proved he was still a nice guy. Too nice for her? Still? She’d tried hard to become the kind of woman a man like Matt deserved. Loyal. Hardworking. Dependable. Generous. Honest...mostly.
She’d had a few relationships over the years, but her inability to commit had sabotaged each of them. She held back emotionally, fearing a serious relationship could lead to marriage and children. It seemed disloyal to Chastity to have given her away and then keep another baby.
She climbed the float’s ladder, crawled to the middle, fished a bottle of water from her cooler and gulped down several icy mouthfuls trying to wash away Matt’s taste. She felt the others watching her.
“Everything okay?” Pam asked.
“Yes,” she and Matt responded instantly and simultaneously, which pretty much negated their answer. She glanced at him and immediately wished she hadn’t when desire rekindled.
“Who wants to go tubing?” Matt asked finally. A chorus of “Me” rent the air. “Rachel?”
She shook her head. “Not this time.”
The men and juveniles boarded Matt’s boat and took off, leaving Rachel and Pam behind.
“Spill it,” Pam ordered from her built-in seat.
“The lake’s pretty,” Rachel dodged. “What happened to Matt’s knee?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me what happened during your tour.”
Rachel swilled more water, buying time to think. “He gave me a swim test.”
Pam groaned. “Mr. Safety strikes again. That’s why schools are always trying to lure him away.”
“They are?”
“He’s done amazing things with Johnstonville High’s team. He implemented a lot of training ideas that have prevented injuries. Plus, their record, graduation rate and public works receive a lot of attention and even get him written up in sports magazines. He was the national high school coach of the year last year. But Matt’s not interested in opportunities elsewhere. He’ll never leave Johnstonville. It’s the family mayor tradition.”
Pam’s version confirmed what Carol had told her.
“So, what else happened? You look...rattled.”
Rachel employed every technique she’d learned to mask her reaction. “He took me past the barn where we used to...meet.”
“Did you visit the hayloft for old time’s sake?”
“No.” Truth. “That’s not going to happen.”
“A girl can hope, can’t she?”
Rachel’s stomach lurched. “Pam, we’ve covered this. I’ll only be here a few more weeks.”
“You might change your mind and stay for the right man. I did. Mom did.”
“What did you say happened to Matt’s knee?” Rachel redirected.
“I didn’t. But he tore it up in a football game. Old news.”
Not to her, it wasn’t. Then Pam removed her long-sleeved cover-up, and something sparkly on her wrist caught Rachel’s eye.
“That looks like the bracelet Chastity wears.”
“It should. The girls made them in Vacation Bible School last year for each other and for Hope and me, too.” She extended her arm.
A bracelet. For a woman who’d never worn jewelry but who’d been wearing a bracelet when she died. Rachel examined the string of pale pink-and-white beads. Uneasiness snaked through her. “Very pretty.”
“See the tiny numbers? Each bead represents a Proverb that denotes something special about the person for whom the bracelet is made. And each bead is also individually knotted on silk cording like expensive pearls. They’re practically unbreakable.”
Rachel, who had been accused by coworkers of having a cast-iron stomach, felt acid burning its way up her esophagus. She swigged more water. What could have changed Hope’s mind about jewelry being a vanity issue? A gift made by her daughter. Was Chastity’s gift the bracelet that had trapped Hope’s wrist?
The only way to be sure was to look in the box of Hope’s belongings from the car, and she had to do it soon—before Chastity beat her to it. Because if there was a connection, Chastity could never find out.
* * *
RELIEF WASHED OVER Rachel when she spotted an unfamiliar car in Hope’s driveway and a stranger on the front porch. Matt pulled the truck to a stop. The visitor’s presence meant there would be no private goodbyes with Matt.
“A friend of yours?” he asked.
“No.” She hurried from the cab. Matt retrieved the cooler from the truck’s bed. Rachel reached for it. Their hands touched, her heart skipped. “Thanks for today.”
He held on to the cooler. “I’ll stay until you find out who she is.”
She’d had a Matt overload and needed a break to regroup. “Chastity and I can handle a visitor.”
He held her gaze. She could tell he had more to say.
“Yeah, thanks, Coach. See ya.” The finality in Chastity’s tone surprised Rachel. But the girl had been a very diligent chaperone today, sitting between Rachel and Matt and watching their exchanges.
His gaze flicked to the teen, then with obvious reluctance, he surrendered the cooler. “You did great on the wakeboard, Chastity.”
Rachel held her breath until he got back in his truck and left.
“Miss B
ishop?” the stranger called out.
Rachel pivoted. “Yes.”
The woman met them at the bottom of the porch stairs. “Does this belong to you?” She extended a hand holding a cell phone.
Before Rachel could set down her load, Chastity dropped the beach bag and snatched the small device. “Mom’s phone!”
The stranger’s eyebrows shot up as Chastity hugged it to her chest, and Rachel’s throat tightened.
“I found it between the living room sofa cushions when I cleaned Mrs. Lane’s house today. You must have dropped it during your visit.”
“My sister,” Rachel corrected, keeping a close eye on Chastity.
“You’re not Mrs. Lane’s accountant?”
This woman’s employer might have been the last to see Hope alive. Choking emotion swelled inside Rachel. “No. Hope was the accountant. She’s no longer with us. Thank you for returning her phone.”
The visitor glanced at Chastity who held the phone in trembling hands. “I’m sorry for your loss, young lady.” Then she left.
“The battery’s dead.” Chastity’s voice quavered. Her skin looked chalky beneath the tan she’d acquired today, and sweat beaded her upper lip which had a bluish tint. Her breathing was much too rapid and shallow. Signs of shock.
Rachel dumped the cooler on the porch, wrapped an arm around Chastity and steered her inside the house. “I saw your mom’s charger in the nightstand.”
Chastity froze just inside the door, her glassy eyes focused on the phone as she desperately punched buttons in vain. Rachel nudged her to the sofa. The teen didn’t resist. And then Rachel waited for what she suspected was coming. It took seventy-four seconds for the shaking to start.
“The sound’s turned off. I’m not supposed to call her when she’s working. But she was late. So I called,” Chastity said in a barely audible voice. “Over. And over. And over. She didn’t answer,” she wailed, each word increasing in volume. “I got mad. I guess she didn’t have it with her. Maybe she was already—” Then the tears burst free.
Rachel pulled her daughter to her shoulder and held her. She wished she had words to ease the child’s pain. But she had...nothing. She, who always knew exactly what to say to strangers in similar conditions, couldn’t come up with one blessed word to comfort her own child.
That inability disturbed her more than anything, short of signing the adoption papers, ever had. For an hour she stroked Chastity’s tangled hair and rocked her, her own heart shredded by the hiccuping breaths and loud sobs. Rachel’s eyes stung as she silently cursed God for taking the wrong sister and putting this innocent child through hell. Matt would know what to do.
Finally, the torrent ended. She kissed the top of Chastity’s head which still smelled like lake. But the showers they needed could wait. “Let’s get some sleep, sweetie.”
Chastity lifted red, swollen eyes to Rachel’s. “Can I st-stay with y-you t-tonight?”
Love swelled inside Rachel until she thought she would explode. “Absolutely.”
Within twenty minutes Chastity had fallen asleep in Rachel’s arms in the narrow twin bed with the dead phone clutched to her chest between them, and for the first time since Rachel had given away her most precious possession, she got to hold her daughter while she slept.
She lay awake listening to Chastity breath, noting the hiccups growing fewer and further between, and she worried. What if her suspicions about the bracelet were correct? How much damage would it do to the child’s mental health if she discovered her gift had possibly contributed to her mother’s death? Could Chastity live with that?
It was a risk Rachel couldn’t take. If the bracelet were to blame, she’d carry that secret to her grave. She’d been raised to believe lying was a sin and that telling the truth made everything right. But sometimes the truth could do more harm than good. And she couldn’t bear to see her baby hurt anymore.
The old adage about the road to hell being paved with good intentions couldn’t have been more apt.
* * *
THE SOUND OF the door closing behind Chastity when she left for school acted like a starter’s pistol on Rachel’s heart as it lurched into a sprinter’s pace. She had to go through the box of Hope’s belongings before Chastity returned home. And if the bracelet was there and broken...
She’d destroy it.
She crossed to the closed bedroom door and stopped, dread settling like a sandbag in her belly. Flexing her fingers, she dredged up her courage, then entered the white room. Hope’s scent lingered, as if she’d only stepped out a few moments ago. The box sat in the center of the bed, lid askew—probably from when Chastity had retrieved Hope’s laptop.
The briefcase Rachel had sent Hope for Christmas four years ago lay on the top of the contents. Rachel hadn’t known Hope had used it. She set it on the bedspread to go through later. Hope’s purse was next, the tan leather durable and practical. Hope hadn’t been one to match accessories. One purse that suited every occasion was more her style. Rachel stacked it on top of the briefcase, then added the legal pad and calculator.
A jumble of small loose items covered the bottom of the box. A handful of black-ink pens. A dozen mechanical pencils. Paper clips. A box of mints. Coins. Then a familiar pink-and-white curve glinting beneath it all made her stomach muscles clench. She closed her eyes.
Please, let it be an unbroken circle. Please, don’t let it be the one the paramedics cut off.
She lifted her lids. Her hand shook as she pushed aside a yellow sticky notepad and grasped a pink bead. Holding her breath, she lifted the strand. One end came free. Then the other. The knotted cord had been cut, and a white bead was missing between the knots. White. Pure. Like Hope. Gone.
If the officer was right, this gift had very likely contributed to Hope’s death.
Bile geysered up Rachel’s throat. She sprinted for Hope’s bathroom and emptied her stomach into the toilet. She retched until nothing was left. Muscles quivering, she slid to the cold tile floor.
The best things in her life had been stolen from her by good-intentioned acts.
Matt.
Her parents.
Chastity.
Hope.
Pain pummeled her like a rock slide, spreading until every inch of her hurt. The grief she’d been denying welled up. She pulled her knees to her chest and banded her arms around them as loss consumed her.
Hope was gone. She wasn’t coming back.
* * *
MATT KNOCKED ON Rachel’s front door. He had to talk to her. She’d successfully blocked every attempt at conversation yesterday with Chastity or Pam. Luckily, since he wasn’t needed as a substitute today, he had most of the day free.
When Rachel didn’t answer, he knocked again. Her car was here. He tried the knob. It turned. Unlocked doors were common for locals. But Rachel wasn’t a local. Pushing it open, he stepped inside and heard a muffled cry. Was she hurt?
“Rachel?” No answer.
He hustled down the hall, heard the sound again and followed it to Hope’s bedroom. An open box sat on the bed with stuff scattered around it. Hope’s stuff. A whimper came from the bathroom. He crossed to the open door and spotted Rachel curled in a ball on the floor by the toilet, her face pressed into a towel on her bent knees and her back against the wall.
The sour smell of vomit hit him. Had she caught the stomach virus going around? Between the towel and the dark curtain of her hair, he couldn’t see her face. Then he connected the dots. She was grieving her sister. Finally.
“Rachel?”
She gasped and stiffened but didn’t lift her head. “Go away.”
“Not happening.” He grabbed a washcloth from the towel rod and wet it in the sink. Then he knelt and tugged on her towel. She didn’t let go. “Here. Take this. Wash your face, honey.”
She avert
ed her face. “Leave me alone, Matt. Please.”
Her congested voice told him she’d probably been at this a while. Sympathy had always made Pam cry harder, so he’d have to try a different approach. “You’re one of those, huh?”
Her chin popped up. “One of what?”
Her blotchy cheeks and narrowed puffy, bloodshot eyes torqued his heart. He wanted to hold her, to fix whatever was wrong. Instead, he yanked the towel from her hands and offered the cool, damp cloth. “The kind who always help others but can’t accept help in return.”
Shaking her head, she scrubbed her face with the cloth. “I don’t do this.”
“Do what? Have feelings like normal people?”
She scowled at him. “Lose control. Cry. I can’t. Not in my line of work. Not with the stuff I see.”
“This isn’t work, Rachel. This is your life. You lost your only sister. You’re allowed to mourn her. Frankly, you’ve held it together longer than I expected.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me. I know I’m a dumb jock, but if you speak slowly and use one-syllable words I might get it.”
His sarcasm did the trick. She struggled to her feet, refusing his outstretched hand. “This.”
Her palm contained a short broken strand of beads. She’d been holding them so tightly she had round dents in her flesh. Why was she crying over a cheap plastic— Then he recognized the pink-and-white pattern. “That’s like Pam’s and Jess’s.”
“And Chastity’s and H-Hope’s.”
He took it from her. “The clasp is missing. I can pick one up and fix it.”
She shook her head. “There was no clasp. Chastity made it, then tied it on to her mother’s wrist.”
“Should be easy enough to rethread.”
Her face crumpled, and her lips wobbled, but she pulled it together. “The officer said Hope’s bracelet was hung up on something between the seat and console. He thinks her front tire left the road, and she couldn’t get the car back on the road with only one hand. He said the paramedics had to cut off her bracelet to extricate her. This bracelet that Chastity made for her mother probably kil—” Her voice broke. She mashed the wadded wet cloth over her mouth.