Second Chances (2 page)

“In-bi-
tation?” Ginger asked, her hand stuck in a cup of red paint. Crimson trails ran down her arm as she held it up in the air to look into the cup.
Wonderful
. At least her dress was red. Claira could feel the enthusiasm with which she had started her day being sucked right into a vortex of doom. Everything had been so much more difficult, more terrifying than they had told her it would be.

She
continued wiping away the goopy, green paint until Robbie’s face beamed then moved on to the next student, all the while missing her little helpers, Con and Car. She thought of Mr. McLendon and the intense flutter in her stomach returned. How quickly his expression had turned; his cool, green eyes so full of mischief one second, then cold as ice the next as he took in the sight of her. Yeah, she should just pack up her things before she left for the night, save Principal Dawes the time and ‘
the
speech’
.

She didn’t
need the money, but she needed to teach; needed the children. She’d fought hard to overcome her past. She had to make Mr. Dawes understand that art was just a way to connect to her students; to get them to open up and be themselves. She needed this job.

The sun had set and the parking lot was empty when she finally gave up trying to outwait her boss and decided to call it a day
. She just knew he would come back to her classroom and give her the bad news before he left for the day. As the hours ticked past, Principal Dawes never showed and she began to feel like maybe she was in the clear. She noticed the little piece of paper taped to her locker as she walked into the teacher’s lounge. Each teacher was assigned one classroom, but as a temp she wasn’t allowed to make any changes to the room or store her things in the desk. She ripped off the note and leaned against the bank of lockers as she read the edict.

Miss
Robbins, Meet me in my office at half past seven tomorrow morning. There are a few things I would like to discuss with you.

Principal Dawes.

Half past seven
. “Who talks like that?” She snorted to herself as she opened the locker, threw the crumpled note into the bottom and grabbed her lunch sack and a few notebooks. “Can’t be just ‘seven thirty’.”
Coward.
If he did fire her, at least she wouldn’t have to listen to his pretentious dribble any longer. She didn’t like snobby, sneaky people and something about the man set off her well-tuned creep-o-meter.

Fifteen minutes later Claira pulled into the short driveway in front of her little rental in the historical part of the small town. It wasn’t much. Two bedrooms, one she used as her office, and a small bathroom just off the master bedroom. The kitchen was the selling point for her. She loved to cook and try new recipes as a way to relax. The spacious floor plan and marble counter tops would be perfect for the fudge she loved to make.

She
took notice that her porch light was still on and let out a breath she felt like she was always holding these days. She’d rigged a little warning sign for herself, a lightweight thread looped over the inside light switch and hooked over a nearly invisible thumbtack on the bottom edge of the door. If the door was opened without removing the looped end from the tack, the tension on the line would flip the switch and she’d know before she pulled into her drive if someone had been in her home. Of course, that didn’t account for blown bulbs or if the intruder saw the half-baked set up and flipped the light back on. It was silly, really, but her thought at the time was that it was something she could see from a safe enough distance, giving her a chance to escape before she’d even left her car. She shrugged. Silly or not, it always helped slow her heart rate to see the light shining when she arrived home. It was a shot in the dark.
Literally
. She needed as much advanced warning as she could get.

“All
’s safe.” She slid from the car, stepped carefully over the line of pebbles she’d arranged across the front step in a familiar pattern only she would recognize had been disturbed, then climbed the bare, concrete steps to her front door. Stretching up on her tip toes, she removed the broken toothpick from the top on the door jamb and the piece of unbroken, clear tape from the bottom. If someone found the first they may not look for the second, and if the tape was broken or replaced she’d know for sure if someone had been inside. Everything in layers. Plan A had a plan B. B had a C and so on. She carefully unhooked the delicate thread, unlocked the two deadbolts, rushed through the door and quickly closed it behind her, throwing both locks back into place before she entered the security code to reset the alarm.

I really need
to get a dog
.
A big dog
. She had convinced the landlord to let her have one, with a sizeable deposit of course, but she hadn’t had time to find one. She had only arrived in town a week ago. Between finding a place to rent, finding a job and putting all the other security measures in place so that she could actually
try
to sleep at night, she had barely had time to get groceries.

She knew she was
being paranoid. Paranoid was her new reality. They’d told her he would never find her, but she knew better. She tried to believe them; in their ability to keep her safe. She had to do her part of course, most of which consisted of keeping her secrets just that; secrets. Somewhere deep down, she knew he wouldn’t give up until he had her, or he was dead. 

Nearly every light in the house was on as she tucked her keys into her purse and carried them to the
bedroom with her. She still couldn’t walk into a dark room and she always kept her purse and keys within arm’s reach in case she had to leave in a rush.

After rechecking all the window locks in
the empty house, preparing a quick salad for dinner and taking a long shower, she pulled back the covers and laid her head on her new pillow. The bed felt cold, strange. The whole house felt wrong. She missed Daniel. Deputy Marshal Daniel Gregory had been quiet and aloof for the first month of the trial—which took three years longer to conclude then they had promised—but before long he became almost like a father to her. More than her real father had been, anyway. He always made her a cup of hot tea before bed and then sat and talked with her. She’d felt…safe. The long months he was assigned to her had been the only time in the last few years she’d truly slept.

He
’d also taught her how to become invisible.
No social media, keep your head down, don’t make eye contact and don’t speak unless spoken to.
That was the easy part. Lord knew she’d had enough practice being invisible around her father and his men. It was the constant running and endless state of panic those first days in hiding that had nearly broken her. Not to mention the bullets. Then it just got worse.

Onc
e her father’s trial was over and his henchmen had been called off, Daniel helped her build a new life, or the start of one. With his help she had been able to salvage a little of her old life, mainly her bank account, but she knew she would never be the same inside.

The old C
laira….  “Huh, how weird is that?”
There is no
‘old’
Claira.
Claira didn’t exist until about two weeks ago. She—Gabriella—
no longer existed and
Claira
was invisible. She didn’t want to be invisible any longer. She wanted to be real, to feel and breathe and love. That’s how she felt when she was with her students. Realizing her need and love of children, Daniel had made sure her new background included something in the child care profession. He couldn’t get her a fake degree in psychology, and she’d lose everything she’d earned toward her real one, but being a teacher was better than nothing. He’d even set up this job for her.
I miss him.

Fighting the urge to pick up her cell phone and call him, she reached up and flipped off the bedside lamp. It took a few moments
before her eyes adjusted to the soft light coming from under the closed bathroom door. No, she wouldn’t call him. He’d done so much for her already and it was time she learned to survive on her own. Alone. She’d never felt more alone. The second her eyes closed, she saw a pair of cool, green eyes staring back at her.

Grey’s cock pressed hard against the zipper in his dress slacks. He reached down to make a quick adjustment in hopes of alleviating at least some of the discomfort. Even disgusted with himself, he still couldn’t get the picture of her out of his head. Thick, brown curls that hung loose around her temples, flirting with her eyelashes. His fingers curled into a fist at the memory, longing to reach up and brush them away from her eyes. And those big, doe eyes, like dark chocolate, so rich and warm, seemed to look straight through to his very soul. When he’d locked gazes with Miss Robbins, he had been besieged with feelings he hadn’t felt in years, and never so strong. Protectiveness, possessiveness, pure, undiluted lust.
What the fuck?
Grey chuckled at the memory of shock on her face when she’s seen them standing in the doorway, along with that ridiculous green paint on her face. He wondered what she had been thinking at that moment. 

T
hen there was the anger. He’d wanted to strangle the principal of that stuffy school for being so condescending to her. Then strangle her for making him care.

He’d never liked Preston Dawes, ev
en when he was a scrawny, twig dick, big nosed, ass kisser in high school. The only reason he and his brothers enrolled the twins in that uppity school was because their late Aunt Dunny had helped found it, and that’s what Sarah had wanted. The McLendon clan had been an intricate fixture in Grassland since before Montana had joined the Union. They weren’t Silicon Valley rich but, as one of the two founding families, they held the lion’s share of land in the territory. That didn’t make them much in the world, but when they spoke, the people of Grassland listened, and damn if he hadn’t wanted to snap his fingers and have that prick fired.

Aunt Dunny, rest her soul, would roll over in her grave if she kn
ew that sniveling bigot had been elected to take over as principal of her beloved school, even if it was only for the last half of the school year. He hated that his kids were around the pretentious asshole at all. If he’d had his way the boys would be home schooled, but there was no way their schedules would allow for it. Ranching meant long, hard days and the ranch needed all hands on deck. Still, he would definitely be reconsidering their choices before the next school year started if Dawes was still there.

“W
onder what the delightful Miss Robbins thinks of the little weasel.”
Grey snorted at the thought. He stiffened in his seat, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as he let out a disgusted grumble. What did it matter what she thought? He had no business thinking about her, period. He glanced at his boys in the rear view mirror as he pulled out of the pediatrician’s parking lot onto Main Street. God, with every passing day they looked more like Sarah.

Following t
he country road that stretched out before him, he tried again to remember their mother’s eyes. They were blue, he knew, but the image that came to mind was nothing but a faint whisper, a feeling more than a memory. He’d already lost her sweet scent and now he couldn’t remember her eyes. His fist pounded the steering wheel when the memory refused to surface. She’d been gone only six years and he’d already begun to forget her.

“You okay, daddy?” Con asked as
he handed Car his lollypop the nurse had given them for good behavior at the doctor’s office.

Grey glanced back at the twins again and saw his own eyes staring back at him. Although they
favored his brothers with their sandy brown hair and light freckles that dusted across the tops of their noses and shoulders, he could see himself in their bright green eyes. Only if you looked closely could you see the thin, dark blue ring around the outside that held their mother’s azure depths.

“Yeah, I’m okay
, boys. Just forgot to pick up that wormer we’re going to need for the puppies.” Grey hated lying to his boys. He hated it almost enough to forgive them their follies from the day before and lift the grounding that was to begin as soon as they pulled into the driveway. Almost.

“Think Bernie will really have them this week?” Car asked, straining against h
is safety belt with excitement.

“That’s wh
at Doc Fisher says.” Grey smirked and shook his head. Three mares about to foal, twelve hundred head of cattle to rotate into the back pasture, a set of twins that can’t hold still for three seconds—he knew because he’d timed it—and now a half dozen or more puppies. He could have shot Mason for not having that cur beast of a mutt spayed after he had talked Grey into keeping her.  What looked like a mix of Doberman and German Sheppard, Bernie was a handful. She was a good herder though, and great with the twins, so Grey agreed to keep her on. In truth he couldn’t wait to see the boy’s faces when they saw their first litter of puppies being born. He’d never let Mason know that, though.