Second Chance Summer. Irene Hannon
with a response as she pressed it back into position, trying to repair the child’s artwork.
But a loud rumble from the youngster’s stomach gave her an excuse to change the subject. “Are you hungry?”
Madeleine nodded.
“Let’s see what I can find in my tote bag.” As she reached for it, Rachel took a mental inventory. The children in today’s class had been too occupied to think about food, so her snack supply was intact. Cheese crackers or a chocolate chip granola bar? She’d let Madeleine choose.
She rummaged around and pulled out the two items. Madeleine went straight for the salty snack.
By the time Rachel retrieved a bottle of water for her from the ice-filled tub on a side table, the girl had devoured half of the crackers. Twisting off the cap, Rachel retook her seat and set the bottle beside her. “What did you have for breakfast?”
“I dint hav brefus.” The words came out garbled as she wolfed down another cracker.
Rachel frowned. No breakfast? That meant Madeleine hadn’t eaten for fifteen hours, minimum.
What was wrong with this child’s mother?
She fished another pack of crackers out of her bag and handed them over, doing her best to curb her anger at the blatant neglect. “Do you skip breakfast a lot?”
“Not at home. I eat at day care.” She wrinkled her nose. “The food isn’t real good, though. In hotels, I only eat if room service comes before we have to leave.”
“It sounds like you travel around a lot.”
“Mmm-hmm. Mommy has lots of meetings in different places. She has a very important job.”
Apparently more important than feeding her child and picking her up on time.
As that thought flashed through her mind, the door to the conference room opened and a thin, thirtysomething woman in business attire, cell phone in hand, pushed through. Once she spotted them, she held up one finger and continued her phone conversation.
“I need the revised data in thirty minutes, max. Email a new PowerPoint slide to illustrate it, and send as much backup as possible.” Silence while she tapped her foot and huffed out a breath. “Look, it’s lunchtime here, too. Deal with it.” She jabbed a button and slid the phone back on her belt as she strode across the room. “Sorry I’m late. I thought this was an all-day program.”
Rachel rose. “The Club Juniors program runs a full day. Art from the Sea is a special half-day offering.”
A flicker of annoyance darkened the woman’s eyes. “Too bad someone didn’t bother to explain that when I signed Madeleine up. Now I’ll have to make other arrangements for the afternoon—and I have to be back at the convention center in half an hour to finish my presentation.”
“I can take care of Madeleine for the rest of the day if you’d like.” The words spilled out before Rachel could stop them.
The child’s mother did a double-take, clearly as surprised by the offer as Rachel was—but she wasted no time accepting. “That would be great. I’m sure you’re qualified to work with children or the hotel wouldn’t have hired you. Since I’ve arranged a sitter for my business dinner this evening, I’d only need you to take care of her until six.”
“Fine. We’ll meet you in the lobby then.”
“I’ll discuss compensation with you later and reimburse you for any expenses.” The woman swiveled around and started for the door.
“I drew a picture, Mommy.”
At her daughter’s soft comment, the woman looked over her shoulder without slowing her pace. “You can show me later. Be good for the nice lady.” She disappeared out the door.
The room went silent.
Rachel caught the slight tremble in Madeleine’s lower lip—and had a sudden urge to yank the mother back into the room by her trendy layered hair and give her a piece of her mind. Since that wasn’t possible, she’d do the next best thing. She’d put the little girl center stage for the next five and a half hours and lavish her with attention.
Adopting a bright tone, she stood. “Have you been to the Sea Turtle Center yet?”
Madeleine shook her head and rose more slowly, gathering up her watercolor and the art board with the single shell clinging tenuously to the corner.
“Then we’ll go there after lunch. It’s one of my favorite places on the island.”
The little girl didn’t respond as she walked over to the trash can in the corner and deposited her halfhearted attempts at art.
Rachel had no difficulty interpreting the child’s reasoning. Since no one was going to admire or gush over her handiwork, why bother saving it?
Taking her hand, Rachel led her from the room.
All the while wondering why God gave children to women who couldn’t care less about being a parent but snatched them away from those who yearned to be mothers.
Chapter Four
Fletch glanced in his rearview mirror, started to back out of the parking lot at the Sea Turtle Center—and jammed on his brake as an attractive blonde came into view.
She was some distance away, at the edge of the lot for the hotel, burdened down with two large tote bags and a shoulder purse as she wove among the cars. Yet he had no trouble identifying her.
Rachel Shaw.
But it was a different Rachel Shaw than the feisty woman he’d encountered on the beach and at Gram’s house.
This Rachel’s bent head and slumped shoulders communicated weariness—or discouragement...or both. What had happened to dampen her spunky spirit?
He frowned as he continued to follow her progress. He ought to just leave. The mental state of Eleanor’s niece was no concern of his.
Yet for some reason her dejected posture bothered him.
Fletch drummed a finger on the wheel as Gram’s admonition about manners echoed in his ears.
Polish them up. You were raised better than that.
He blocked out the part of her comment about attracting a nice girl. His impulse to go to Rachel’s aid had nothing to do with creating a more favorable impression on her. But Gram was right. He had been raised better than to let a woman carry heavy stuff without assistance. The influence of his Southern upbringing might have faded through the years, but enough remained to niggle at his conscience as he watched his beach companion from last week trudge along—especially after her purse slipped and she almost lost her grip on one of the tote bags.
With a quick shift of gears, Fletch pulled back into his spot, slid out of the SUV, and wove toward her through the cars.
Rachel was plodding along, head bowed, when he stopped a few feet in front of her.
“We meet again.”
As he parroted her words from Sunday back to her, her chin jerked up and she came to an abrupt halt.
Fletch gestured toward the overstuffed tote bags. “You look like you could use a hand.”
Her gaze flicked to his leg.
His temper flared.
What was with her, anyway? She’d seen him swim, watched him walk without any problem on the deep, shifting sand. If they’d met under any other circumstances she wouldn’t know he had a prosthesis. What did he have to do to prove he was fully mobile—dance the tango?
Since that wasn’t an option even if he had two good legs, Fletch settled for grabbing both bags from her before she could protest. “Where are you parked?” The question came out more clipped and curt than he intended.
Rachel