Restoring Hearts
When Rachel Shaw and Jack Fletcher meet on a sunny Georgia beach, it seems like the perfect start to a romance. There’s just one problem—neither one is the least bit interested in falling in love. They’re just looking for peace, and time to work through their losses. But Rachel’s aunt Eleanor and Fletch’s Gram have other plans. Their meddling matchmaking would drive Rachel and Fletch nuts if they weren’t busy restoring a house for one of Gram’s charities. Yet as they repair the house, it’s their hearts that begin to mend. Soon Rachel and Fletch realize they might be able to build a second chance at a great love.
“We meet again.”
As he parroted her words from Sunday back to her, she came to an abrupt halt.
Fletch gestured toward the overstuffed tote bags. “You look like you could use a hand. Where are you parked?”
Rachel finally looked up—and his breath jammed in his lungs.
Her jade eyes shimmered, and when she swallowed and moistened her lips, a twinge of some unidentifiable emotion tugged at his heart.
He cleared his throat—and softened his tone. “Your car?”
Rachel gestured to her right. “The silver Focus.” As she led the way soft wisps of hair that had escaped her braid whispered at the neck of her sleeveless knit top, calling out to be touched.
While she popped the trunk with the remote, he took a deep breath.
Don’t go there, Fletcher. Rachel Shaw might be attractive, but you don’t need a summertime romance. She’s the niece of your grandmother’s best friend. This would only complicate your life.
IRENE HANNON,
who writes both romance and romantic suspense, is the author of more than forty novels. Her books have been honored with two coveted RITA® Awards, a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Carol Award, two HOLT Medallions, a Retailers Choice Award, a Daphne du Maurier Award and two Reviewers’ Choice Awards from RT Book Reviews magazine. In addition, she is a Christy Award finalist, and Booklist named one of her novels a “Top 10 Inspirational Fiction” title for 2011. A former corporate communications executive with a Fortune 500 company, Irene now writes full-time from her home in Missouri. For more information, visit www.irenehannon.com.
Second Chance Summer
Irene Hannon
Many are the plans of the human heart,
but it is the decision of the Lord that endures.
—Proverbs 19:21
To the Hannon clan—
Mom & Dad Jim, Teresa, Catherine & Maureen My husband, Tom (an honorary Hannon!)
And to Jekyll…our special island
Thanks for the memories.
Contents
Chapter One
Man, could that guy swim.
Under cover of her wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, Rachel Shaw kept a discreet eye on the powerful shoulders cutting through the water a hundred feet beyond the crashing surf. The swimmer was moving as fast and effortlessly as the ubiquitous Jekyll Island dolphins that had been cavorting in almost that same spot yesterday.
And he’d been at it since before she’d arrived on the beach twenty minutes ago. Yet other than the few brief times he’d floated on his back while switching strokes, he showed no sign of tiring or slowing down.
Impressive.
A soft, snuffling sigh sounded close to her ear, and she looked over at the golden retriever flopped down next to her low-slung beach chair. He, too, was watching the figure in the water—until he turned to her with a pleading “Can we please swim, too?” look.
“Sorry, boy.” She patted his head. “I promised Aunt Eleanor I wouldn’t bring you home sopping wet. But we’ll play a quick game of Frisbee in a few minutes.”
At the word Frisbee, his ears perked up and his tail began to sweep the sand.
“I thought you’d like that. But give me five more minutes to veg.”
Leaning back in her chair, Rachel tossed her book into her tote bag, abandoning any pretense of reading. It wasn’t every day a woman got treated to such a demonstration of athletic prowess. And a quick scan left and right confirmed she had the show all to herself. Ah, deserted beaches—one of the beauties of summering on an off-the-beaten-path barrier island in Georgia.
Well, not quite deserted.
Her gaze swung back to the man in the water—who suddenly changed direction and headed for shore.
As Rachel followed his progress, her canine companion put his chin on her knee.
“Getting anxious, are we?” She gave him a distracted pat, her focus still on the dark-haired swimmer as she waited for him to stride from the sea like some mighty Greek god, all muscles and brawn and sinew.
Didn’t happen.
Instead, he washed up on shore like a limp piece of seaweed, then scuttled backward with his hands, away from the frothy surf.
Sheesh.
Talk about a letdown.
Adjusting her glasses, Rachel watched him fiddle with his ankle as