Jill Weatherholt - Second Chance Romance

Small-Town Daddy

Jackson Daughtry’s jobs as a paramedic and part-owner of a local café keep him busy—but the single dad’s number one priority is raising his little girl with love and small-town values. And when his business partner’s hotshot lawyer niece comes to town planning to disrupt their lives by moving her aunt away, Jackson has to set Melanie Harper straight. When circumstances force them to work side by side in the coffee shop, Jackson slowly discovers what put the sadness in Melanie’s pretty brown eyes. Now it’ll take all his faith—and a hopeful five-year-old—to show the city gal that she’s already home.

Dear Reader,

Growing up in the suburbs of Washington, DC, one of my favorite areas was the Shenandoah Valley. The beauty of the valley was prevalent year-round, but autumn was always my favorite time to visit. The magnificent colors painted on the Blue Ridge Mountains were a constant reminder of God’s presence in my life.

In 2015, when I heard about Harlequin’s Blurb to Book competition, I knew this was my opportunity to complete a project I started in 2010 but never finished. Like Melanie, who dreamed of having a family once again, my dream was to write a book.

God created us to have goals and dreams. The funny thing was, my dream was to write a book, but I never dreamed of having it published. That’s what makes our God such an awesome God. He took my little dream and turned it into a magnificent gift just for me.

I encourage you all to have dreams; God is listening and He knows your heart.

I love to hear from readers. You can email me at authorjillweatherholt@gmail.com or follow my blog at jillweatherholt.com. I’m also a contributor at inspyromance.com.

Blessings,

Jill Weatherholt

“Daddy, you’re making goo-goo eyes at Miss Melanie.”

Rebecca grabbed her teddy bear and buried her face to stifle the laughter.

Jackson and Melanie broke out laughing.

“I was not.” He examined Melanie more closely. “Was I?” He winked and slammed the passenger door shut.

“Can Miss Melanie come with us to the apple festival?”

“Well, that’s up to Miss Melanie.”

Rebecca jumped up and down. “Please, will you come with us?”

“Yes, please.” He plucked a brilliant red wildflower and handed it to Melanie.

She brought it to her nose. “Ah…it smells so good. And yes, I’d love to go with you.”

Rebecca skipped down the dirt path.

Melanie smelled the flower again as she gazed at Rebecca.

Jackson took a deep breath. “I think there’s nothing more beautiful than you holding that wildflower.”

He saw the color bloom on her cheeks.

Jackson couldn’t resist any longer...she was getting into his heart.

Weekdays, JILL WEATHERHOLT works for the City of Charlotte. On the weekend, she writes contemporary stories about love, faith and forgiveness. Raised in the suburbs of Washington, DC, she now resides in North Carolina. She holds a degree in psychology from George Mason University and a paralegal studies certification from Duke University. She shares her life with her real-life hero and number one supporter. Jill loves connecting with readers at jillweatherholt.com.

Second Chance Romance

Jill Weatherholt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Trust in the Lord with all your heart

and lean not on your own understanding;

in all your ways submit to Him,

and He will make your paths straight.

—Proverbs 3:5–6

To Derek, thank you for all of your patience

and encouragement. You’re my number one

cheerleader. And to my mother, father

and my sister, Jan, who’ve given me

a lifetime of support.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Dear Reader

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Miss, can you hear me?” Jackson’s chest tightened. “C-can you open the door?”

The rain hitting his face felt like acupuncture needles. “I’m Jackson Daughtry, a paramedic. Can you hear me?”

The woman inside the silver Volvo didn’t respond. Her body slumped over the steering wheel, but he could tell she was breathing. Her flowing chestnut curls were covered in blood. He gripped the driver’s side door. It didn’t budge. He beat on the window. His knuckles burned.

“Hold on, miss.” It was Thursday, his first day off in ten days. Thankfully he was always prepared. Inside his trunk, he kept a fully stocked first-aid kit with compress dressings and bandages, all of the proper supplies for an emergency. “I’ll have you out before you open your eyes. You’ll be fine.”

Mud tried to tug his boots from his feet while he sprinted to his truck. Inside his Bronco, he wiped the pellets of rain off his face and grabbed his phone to call the station.

“Tom, it’s Jackson. I’m on Smith Farm Road, in front of the old Smith farm. I need an ambulance.”

“I thought today was your day off.”

“I was on my way to pick up Rebecca from the Whitesides’ house. She spent the night with her friend Mary.” He paused to catch his breath. “A deer darted across the road, and the car in front of me swerved straight into a chestnut oak. The driver is bleeding from her head, and she’s unconscious. Can you send the ambulance and contact the sheriff? I’ll make the report at the hospital.”

“Sorry, bud—I’ll call the sheriff, but the ambulance is at the Swanson place. They think Betsy had a heart attack. Poor Walter, he was beside himself when he called. Betsy collapsed while taking the roast out of the oven. It’ll be a while.”

Jackson’s stomach churned. The only downside of living in the small mountain valley of Sweet Gum, Virginia, was that there was only one sheriff’s car and one ambulance. “Call over to Waynesboro. They’ll send one.”

“No can do, my friend. I heard over the radio there’s a bad accident on Route 340.”

Jackson straightened his shoulders. “Never mind. I’ll take her to Sweet Gum Memorial myself.” He clenched his teeth, causing a pain to shoot through his jaw.

“Who is she, Jackson? Should I call her family?”

“She’s unconscious, man, and the car’s locked.” He massaged his temples. His head pounded. “The license plate says Washington, DC.” He remembered Rebecca, his precious daughter. “Do you mind calling over to the Whitesides’ house? Tell them I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Consider it done.”

Jackson pressed End. He grabbed the slim jim from his trunk, but it slipped from his hands and sank into the mud. He yanked it loose and sprinted to the Volvo. He jammed it down into the crack between the door and the window. Nothing happened. The car was a newer model. The slim jim wasn’t going to get him inside. He raced back to his trunk and grabbed a tire iron. He had no choice.