Leandra Logan - The Sheriff's Second Chance

He never had liked her mother’s front stoop, a concrete block with two steps cut into it. There was nowhere to hide up there under the porch light. Grasping Kelsey’s arm before she could take that first step, he firmly yanked her behind the closest azalea bush.

Kelsey gasped, her eyes dancing in the shadows. “What’s all this? Are we doing the old hide-and-seek thing?”

“The adult version, where nobody hides.” He cupped her chin and locked his mouth to hers for a bold, hot taste. She didn’t resist at all.

The impossible dream was beginning to unfold. It just wasn’t supposed to happen behind a bush. In the end it was the sound of his own car horn, in the care of the two teens, that brought Ethan back to his senses. “Guess this is good-night,” he said, halfheartedly.

“Yes, Ethan.” With a sweet smile she urged him out from behind the shrub. “Thanks a lot. I had so much fun.”

The car horn honked again, making him scowl. “I better go.” He backed away, pointing a finger at her. “To be continued.”

Dear Reader,

The signpost ahead reads Maple Junction, Wisconsin. You’re arriving just in time to make the trip with hometown girl Kelsey Graham. She’s been away for ten years and is very unsure what to expect, even from trusty boy-next-door Ethan Taggert. Along the path to maturity they’d played off one another in fits of pleasure, frustration and disappointment, never quite clicking to make a lasting love match. Despite the fact that they’d parted on a note of disappointment, Ethan is determined to finally make that love connection happen.

Readers often wonder what inspires my writing. This particular story originated with a brief article about a prom couple’s fatal accident along a rural road. The idea that such a euphoric event could turn so devastating deeply touched me. I quickly began to formulate a story through a series of questions. What if a passenger in the car survived? What if her small town blamed her for the crash? What if a memory loss prevented her from knowing the truth herself? Could faith, forgiveness and a little detective work finally make things better?

Kelsey soon came into being, followed by the boy who’d loved her, lost her and lived to regret it. I hope you enjoy the result.

Warm regards as always,

The Sheriff’s Second Chance

Leandra Logan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Leandra Logan is an award-winning author with over thirty books to her credit. She lives in the historic Minnesota town of Stillwater with her husband. Her interests include boating, golfing, gardening and spending time with children and friends.

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

559—SECRET AGENT DAD

601—THE LAST BRIDESMAID

732—FATHER FIGURE

880—FAMILY: THE SECRET INGREDIENT

960—WEDDING ROULETTE

1016—FLIRTING WITH TROUBLE

1108—SUGARTOWN

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

It was the end of another school year.

Kelsey Graham sat at her broad oak desk at the front of the classroom, sorting through the homemade cards and gifts from her twenty-three first graders. They were technically second graders now, which some of the cards made clear with large numeral twos carefully traced atop heads on stick bodies, and houses with small roofs and giant chimneys.

The seven-year-old mind, so full of imagination and hope, never ceased to fascinate and amaze her. Forget television. Give a kid some paper and a box of crayons….

It was easy for anyone to dream on such a beautiful day. To gaze beyond the long open windows facing the school courtyard, let the mind wander on the warm breezes scented with peonies and freshly cut grass.

Spring into summer plans! she’d quipped to her students this afternoon over homemade cookies and lemonade. Many of the youngsters had announced trips to Disney World, Cape Cod, Hawaii. No surprise in this affluent Philadelphia neighborhood.

The most important thing, she’d insisted, as they’d crowded round for a farewell hug, was to enjoy their moms and dads, brothers and sisters. To laugh and play and tell stories, just as they had in the classroom. To take a few photographs to enjoy later on…

Kelsey’s gaze landed back on the empty rows of pint-sized desks and she felt a wistful pang. Last Day Letdown. She recognized the symptoms very well, having suffered from them on this final day of each of the past five school years.

Fueled with new purpose, she gripped the edge of the desk, rolled back her chair and stood. She turned and began to dismantle the dancing alphabet display from one of the cork squares flanking the blackboard, dropping the colorful construction-paper pieces into a box on the floor. She’d need a ladder to get at the train of twelve boxcars, designating months of the year, tacked out of reach above the board.

As if by telepathy, janitor Marta Lynch appeared with a metal step ladder. Like Kelsey, she was trim and toned, of average height and weight. But Marta was a full decade older than Kelsey’s twenty-eight years, and her clipped brown hair needed a routine dye job to cover some pesky gray strands. While Kelsey favored chic outfits like today’s navy linen suit with pink nylon shell, peppy Marta wore casual clothing more suited to her job. Today’s comical red T-shirt read Don’t Wanna Work. A joke, indeed, as she never stopped.

“Hi, Kel,” Marta chirped. “I figured you’d need your annual boost.”

This was a pep talk to help Kelsey let go of yet another year’s worth of bright faces that had shaped her life. In her own cheery way, Marta tried to steer Kelsey to activities that would make the summer months fly, and fill the void until another classful of kids marched in to give Kelsey’s life fresh purpose and direction.

“Thanks, Marta,” she said through a mouthful of stick pins.

“Hey, swallow those and you’ll need an ambulance!” Marta propped the ladder against the wall to march over and pull the pins free.

There was an informality between Kelsey and all the maintenance staff that allowed this kind of scolding. She’d grown up working in her mother’s Cozy Home Café back in tiny Maple Junction, Wisconsin where there were no prima donnas among the cooks, potato peelers and dishwashers in the kitchen. Everyone pitched in where needed without a whimper.

This democratic approach had not caught fire with most of the faculty here at Hancock Grammar School. The other teachers believed in keeping a lofty distance from the maintenance workers and felt it within their right to make pretentious demands of them. While Kelsey’s friendlier approach wasn’t a bid to score more perks, it did win her prompt spill cleanup and lightbulb replacements, as well as the latest hydraulic chair every autumn.