Read A Second Chance at Love: A Hometown Hero Series Novel for Free Online

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    Present day.
    Her eyes were like gemstones in her face; her bone structure the most remarkable he’d ever seen on a living, breathing person. Her lips were pouty and soft, as pink as he’d remembered. Her eyelashes were long, curled and black. And her hair. God. She’d worn it in a fancy bun by the sea, but he knew it was the same hair. That same thick, golden hair that he’d run his hands through until she’d fallen asleep, her head on his chest.
    “Daddy, that’s not right!”
    He blinked and focussed on the Dr Seuss book he was supposed to be reading. He pulled a silly face, reminiscent of Thing One, and carried on. But his mind wasn’t on the tongue-twisting story. He was thinking only of bloody Maddie, as he had been for two days straight.
    Eight years, and she still had the singular ability to turn him to mush. He flipped to the last page and finished the story with relief. He’d really botched that evening’s rendition of Ivy’s favourite book, but at least it was finished.
    “Can I have it again, daddy? You stumbled over the best parts.”
    He laughed and leaned down, to press a kiss against her forehead. She was so like her mother. He looked from Ivy to the picture of Sally, a smile on his face. “Not tonight, Holly.”
    “That’s not right!” She giggled, as she always did, at his use of the wrong name.
    “Isn’t it? Should I have said Berry?”
    “Noooo, silly!”
    He shrugged. “Who are you, then?”
    “I’m Ivy, and I love you!”
    He laughed and tussled her hair. “Good night, sweetie.”
    “Daddy?” She asked, when he had one foot out the door.
    He lingered in the opening. “Yes?”
    “Can we go watch the sun come up tomorrow?”
    He shook his head. Even his daughter had been transfixed by Madeline. “No. Go to sleep.”
    Ivy made a sound of disappointment. “No fair!”
    “It’s going to be about forty five degrees tomorrow. You’d freeze your feet off.” He pulled the door closed gently, but still heard Ivy’s valiant objection through the timber.
    “Would not! I like the cold!”
    Just like her mother had. He took the steps two at a time, and turned left into the kitchen. The sun had set hours earlier, but beyond his front yard, the moon cast a milky dye over the ocean. It rippled in the wind, making silver threads arc through the water. In the very far distance, he could make out the town’s lighthouse, and beyond it, a couple of trawlers on the high seas.
    He thought of Sally considerably less than he should.
    He reached for a can of beer with a frown, and a deep sense of guilt. It was wrong, so wrong, that he thought of Madeline more frequently than the woman who’d given him a daughter, and died because of it.
    He tilted his head back and drank half the can, then pressed a palm flat against the bench and stared out at the ocean.
    Was she still in town? He would have heard if that old bastard had died. Meaning she was probably there. In the big white ranch on the outskirts of Whitegate. Within ten miles of his home, but she might as well be in another galaxy.
    She was married.
    He’d heard about it at the time. It had been all over the papers, and the gossips of the town had been barely able to contain their excitement. Her husband was some big shot congressman, supposedly a future presidential candidate. It made sense.
    Everything about the damned marriage made sense.
    More sense than they ever had. He finished the beer, scrunched the can up and tossed it haphazardly into the recycling box. It was cold out, with winter giving a solid hint of the cold that was in store.
    He grabbed another beer and headed for the front stoop. His jacket was over the coat rack; he paused only to shrug it on.
    As he breathed, fogs of white breath puffed from his lips. He stared at the moonlight, and concentrated with all his might on not thinking about Madeline.
    She was so far in the past, she shouldn’t occupy his mind in the way she did. And yet, with each sip of beer, her face