Second Chance Romance. Jill Weatherholt
“I’ll be six in a few months.”
“So tell me, what kind of dog is this?” The buzz around town was that Larry Whiteside was breeding a litter of Labrador retrievers.
With eyes wide and as blue as the ocean, Rebecca began to captivate him—as she always did. He’d have been the first to admit he was a softy when it came to his daughter and the things she asked for. “Mr. Whiteside said Sally is going to have her pups soon, and she’s big and yellow. He told me I had to ask you first,” Rebecca answered.
Jackson scratched his chin. “Let me think about it for a bit. Hmm...well, since our closest neighbors are ten miles down the road and they’re seventy-five years old, you just might need a little friend.”
Rebecca jumped up and down and then proceeded to twirl. She loved to twirl. “Yes! I’ll take care of her. I promise. I’ve already picked out a name. I want to call her Samantha.”
Jackson’s heart melted. He could never say no to his little girl. “We have a couple of days before the pups are born, and they will have to stay with their mama for a while.” He cupped her chin. “I do have one question for you, sweetie. What happens if all of Sally’s puppies are boys? What will you name him?”
“Daddy, come on. I’d call him Sam—duh.”
He laughed and gave her a big bear hug. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”
Larry and Wilma Whiteside, along with their daughter Mary, Rebecca’s best friend, stood on their porch as he and his daughter walked to the front door to thank them for having Rebecca over. “Anytime Mary wants to come over for the night, she’s always welcome.” Jackson smiled as he reached to shake Larry’s hand.
As they walked back to the truck, Rebecca looked up. “Can she come tonight since tomorrow’s Friday and we don’t have school?” He lifted Rebecca in and buckled her seat belt.
“I think you two had enough time together for now. Besides, we have plans tomorrow.”
She bounced up and down in her seat. “What are we doing?”
He buckled his seat belt and turned the key in the ignition. “Miss Phoebe has invited us over for an early dinner. Her niece is visiting.”
“Is she the lady you rescued?” Rebecca asked and kicked her feet against the back of his seat.
“Where did you hear I rescued someone?”
“I heard Mrs. Whiteside telling Mr. Whiteside you saved a lady today.”
“Yes, she was Miss Phoebe’s niece. She’s from Washington, DC.” He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “You know where DC is, don’t you?”
“Ah...duh, of course—it’s our nation’s capital.” She flashed a lopsided grin in the reflection. Jackson stifled his laugh. He wasn’t keen on her using “duh,” but sometimes it was too darn cute.
“Is she pretty?” The kicking subsided. “What’s her name?”
His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Her name is Miss Melanie.” Her face flashed in his mind, and his pulse quickened. “Yes, she’s very pretty.” He swallowed hard. Too pretty. What had he been thinking when he agreed to dinner?
“Jackson and Rebecca won’t be here for a couple of hours,” Aunt Phoebe announced from her kitchen. “Why don’t you go lie down and take a little nap?”
Melanie squeezed her eyes tightly shut. The searing pain persisted in her neck. She’d been anxious to leave the hospital this morning, but now she wondered if she should have stayed. With the tips of her fingers, she touched the stitches on her cheek. No point trying to cover them with makeup. She stared out the living-room window in dreaded anticipation of the dinner guests, especially Jackson’s daughter.
Aunt Phoebe’s house, a charming country cottage, reminded Melanie of the gingerbread houses she’d made with her mother as a child. Although small in comparison to her three-level town house in the heart of Capitol Hill, Aunt Phoebe’s cottage sat on fifteen acres of immaculate tree-lined property, obviously maintained by a professional landscaper. Melanie had to admit it was stunning. The backyard exploded with shades of yellow and red. A quaint white gazebo sat near a small pond. Potted mums perfectly arranged along the interior of the structure provided an added pop of dazzling autumn colors.
Once upon a time, this had been her favorite time of the year, but no more. Her world was the same no matter the season. Dark.
Melanie peeled herself from the comfort of the La-Z-Boy chair. Now was a good time to discuss the move. Before Jackson showed up. She’d sensed his displeasure at the suggestion when she’d brought it up yesterday. She pushed through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. The combination of the bright October sun and the yellow-painted walls made her feel like she needed her sunglasses. “Aunt Phoebe, don’t you think it might be time for you to slow down? Have someone look after you for a change? You’re sixty-five years old. You can’t expect to continue to take care of this house and run The Bean.” As far as Melanie knew, she worked there every weekday and Saturday. And Melanie suspected the only reason she didn’t work on Sunday was because they were closed. Aunt Phoebe was a firm believer in going to church on Sunday and spending the rest of the day in fellowship with family and neighbors.
“Slow down?” Phoebe speared a piece of chicken with a fork and placed it on a floured baking sheet. “I’m hitting my stride.” She pushed out her chest. “In fact, I just signed up for the hospital’s 5K.”
Melanie’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t run. You’ll injure yourself.”
“Maybe I can’t run, but I can certainly walk. It’s for children’s cancer research, and if I have to, I’ll crawl across the finish line.” She sprinkled some pepper onto the chicken and rolled it in the flour. She turned her head when the pepper triggered a sneeze. “Excuse me.”
Nothing slowed the woman down. But in spite of how she felt now, if something happened to her, Melanie would find herself alone in the world. Her stomach turned at the thought. “So, what do you think about moving to DC with me?” She stared down at the chicken.
Aunt Phoebe shook her head. “Honestly, when you mentioned this crazy idea at the hospital, I thought you were joking. Why would I want to move? My life is here.”
The oven beeped. It was fully preheated and ready for the oversize biscuits.
Melanie expelled a weary sigh. “You’re the only family I have. I want to take care of you.”
Aunt Phoebe snatched the checkered dish towel off of the counter and dried her hands. “You don’t think I’m capable of looking out for myself?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just think your home and The Coffee Bean are a lot of upkeep for anyone.”
“You mean for an old coot like me?” She tightened the strings on her apron. “This is nonsense. The valley is where I plan to spend my last days on this earth, however long the good Lord determines I have.” She patted Melanie’s arm. “Let’s end this subject. We’ve got company coming.”
“Don’t you get scared living out here alone?”
“Scared? Why would I be scared?” She pulled on her yellow gloves and, with an oversize sponge, scrubbed the cast-iron skillet with the tenacity of a twenty-year-old. “Besides, God is always watching over me. I trust Him to take care of me.”
Melanie dropped her arms to her sides. Her aunt was stubborn.
“What about you?” Aunt Phoebe set the skillet in the sink, took off the gloves and reached for Melanie’s hand. She guided her to the kitchen table, and they each took a seat across from one another. “Not a day goes by I don’t think