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  SECOND CHANCE

  AT LOVE

  bOOK #1 IN THE

  second chance SERIES

  (Formerly published as “tear down and die”)

  Joanna Campbell Slan

  ~Spot On Publishing~

  Second Chance at Love: Book #1 in the Second Chance Series

  Previously published as Tear Down & Die: Book #1 in the Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series

  Copyright © 2016 by Joanna Campbell Slan

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Joanna Campbell Slan/Spot On Publishing

  9307 SE Olympus Street

  Hobe Sound /FL 33455 USA

  http://www.SpotOnPublishing.org

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2016

  http://www.BookDesignTemplates.com

  Covers by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  http://www.WickedSmartDesigns.com

  Editing by Wendy Green.

  Second Chance at Love: Book #1 in the Second Chance Series—

  Joanna Campbell Slan. – 2nd ed.

  Revised 01/07/2018

  SECOND CHANCE

  AT LOVE

  BOOK #1 IN THE

  second chance SERIES

  (formerly published as “tear down & die”)

  DEDICATION

  For Sally Lippert, who believes in second chances.

  ~*~

  MY GIFT TO YOU

  To thank you for your interest in my book, I have a special gift for you. I’ve created a file with recipes and crafting instructions with so you can cook food and make a beautiful home décor item just like those mentioned in this book. Just send an email to the address at the back of the book, and our computer guru will automatically send the file to you.

  All best,

  Joanna

  PROLOGUE

  Late August…

  St. Louis, Missouri

  As if he were looking out into the future, the light faded in Sven's brown eyes, and his weight settled in my arms. A sob burst from me, as I whispered, “He's gone, isn't he?”

  The vet, a grizzled man near retirement age who had a habit of clicking his dentures, pressed the stethoscope to my dog's chest. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded.

  “I killed my dog,” I said to my friend Kiki, as her fingers gripped my shoulder. “I killed him!”

  With surprising strength, she grabbed me and turned me so that we faced each other. “You did not kill him. He's been having seizures for the past eight hours. You released him, Cara Mia. You gave him peace.”

  I threw my arms around her neck and cried. I choked and sputtered and moaned and keened while all the sadness of the past year heaved up inside me and overflowed onto the shoulder of my friend. Kiki Lowenstein simply held me, patting my back, making soothing sounds.

  When I was nearly cried out, the vet asked, “Do you want to take your pet?”

  Kiki's fiancé, Detective Chad Detweiler made a move to bundle Sven in a blanket, but I said, “No. Please cremate him. I plan to leave the area. I want Sven to go with me.”

  The rest of the visit was a blur. The staff murmured their condolences as we walked through the office. Other clients looked away. They understood instinctively what had happened.

  The tall detective opened the door for us, and we climbed into Detweiler's big police cruiser. Kiki and I sat in the back seats so she could hold me. We'd made quite a fuss on our arrival. Detweiler had used his flashing lights to speed us through the city traffic as I watched Sven convulsing on my lap. Silently, I thanked my lucky stars for having friends who dropped everything to come to my aid at a moment's notice. Leaving St. Louis would be hard, but it was time. My parents were both gone, having died within six months of each other, and my son was off to college.

  Now this.

  “I am never, ever going to own another dog,” I said. “Ever.”

  For a long portion of the ride, Kiki said nothing. She put her arm around my shoulders and let me cry, leaking tears now rather than sobbing.

  When we pulled up to my house, she walked me inside while Detweiler waited for her in his car. I appreciated how he gave us a bit of privacy. After she got me settled on my sofa and made me a cup of peppermint tea, Kiki sank down next to me and said, “Now you listen to me, Cara Mia, and you listen good. Of course you'll get another dog. Of course you'll love again. I know you and I know that you believe in second chances. We both do. That's what makes life worth living. And if you forget how important they are, if you start to doubt that they are worth the heartache, remember this—”

  She pressed my fingertips to her belly so I could feel her baby kick. “Second chances,” she said. “That's what life's all about. Don't you ever doubt it.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Early September...

  Sometimes you need to go backwards to move forwards. Especially when you doubt yourself and don't know what to do next. All my packing was done. Boxes that would go into storage formed an untidy wall around me.

  “Where you moving to?” asked one of the men from the van lines, as he flicked the butt of a Camel cigarette onto my lawn. Except it wasn't my lawn. Not anymore. So why worry?

  “I haven't decided yet.”

  That pretty much summed up my life. I was at a crossroads, a spot on the map between emptiness and confusion—and I didn't know which way to turn. Watching the workers load up my stuff only made me feel more unsettled. I signed the paperwork for the movers, hopped in my car, the black Camry I've named Black Beauty and drove to a familiar parking lot.

  “Cara Mia Delgatto! I've been thinking about you.” Kiki stood at the back door of her scrapbook and crafting store, Time in a Bottle. A red dog leash connected her to her rescue pup, Gracie, a harlequin Great Dane.

  “Let me guess. You were on your way to take this lover dog for a potty break.” I reached down and patted the floppy ears on the black and white giant.

  “Uh-huh. Care to come with? You can tell me how you've been.”

  We hadn't gotten halfway around the block when I broke down and started crying uncontrollably. Kiki and I perched on a low concrete block restraining wall so I could sob while Gracie sniffed and peed. Kiki put her arm around me, and I wet her shoulder with tears while she patted my back and murmured, “Get it all out, Cara. You'll feel better.”

  When I'd cried me a river (the Mississippi, I'd guess from the muddy look of it), we started back to the shop. Once inside, Kiki put Gracie in the doggie playpen and grabbed a Diet Dr Pepper for me and a bottle of water for her.

  “It's done. Everything's going into storage. I couldn't stand being in that big house night after night by myself,” I said. “I don't want to see the restaurant again, either. It doesn't matter whether it's called Cara Mia's or not. That was our place, our family place. Now that Mom and Dad have passed away, and Tommy's left for school, there's nothing to keep me here in St. Louis. Besides, winter is coming and I've always hated cold weather.”

  “Time to make a new plan and move on down the highway.” Kiki smiled at me, her curls framing her round face. One hand rested protectively on her belly.

  “But I'll be leaving so much behind.”

  “Yes, and you have your whole life ahead of you. Come on back to the store. I have a little gift for you.”

  When I was seated at her work ta
ble, she handed me a gift bag filled with tissue paper. I reached inside and pulled out a memory album of my years in “the Lou.”

  “This is just grand.” I paged through the album. “I could never have done anything like this.”

  “We all save our memories in different ways. You are just as sentimental as I am, Cara. Look at you! I bet those are Tommy's old jeans you're wearing, right? Your son grew out of them and now they're yours.”

  “That's right. At the restaurant, I always had to wear a little black dress, so in my free time, I like dressing down.” My belt was once my father's, but I had it shortened to fit. These rings on my right hand are my mother's engagement and wedding rings.”

  “May I remind you of all the redecorating you did at the restaurant, and how you came in under budget?” Kiki grinned. “In addition to all that, you always smell like sandalwood. Is there a memory associated with that?”

  “Sandalwood brings back good memories of summers in Stuart, Florida. My grandfather lives there. My parents used to rent an apartment above an antique store called The Treasure Chest. The owner stocked the rental with bars of sandalwood soap.”

  As she had predicted, that long crying jag had been cathartic. With my gift under my arm, we walked to Kiki's car. She reached in and handed me a heavy shopping bag.

  “Another gift?” I squealed.

  “There's a surprise for you to enjoy on the road so you'll think of me.”

  “Like I could ever forget you!” I took the sack and thanked her.

  With her hands on my shoulders, Kiki looked at me with moist eyes. “I expect you to stay in touch.”

  Nodding, but too choked up to respond, I turned and walked to my car.

  I waved once more, pulled out of the parking lot and tried not to look back. The hardest part of my journey was just ahead, as I'd have to drive past the Arch, that magnificent silver rainbow in the sky. It had always been a talisman, a welcome mat. But this time, it seemed to wave goodbye.

  CHAPTER 2

  As I crossed the Mississippi into Illinois, I struggled against the lump in my throat. From the Illinois side of the river, you get the best view of the Arch. For a while, I tracked it in my rear view mirror, craning my neck to see that sparkling silver band. Finally, it disappeared.

  I went barreling down I-57 heading south, staying exactly five miles per hour over the posted speed limits. As darkness fell, I had the road all to myself except for the truckers. This suited me fine, although I hit construction outside of Nashville that really slowed my progress. I stopped only to fill the gas tank and open the shopping bag from Kiki. She'd packed it with bags of Cheetos, a small Styrofoam cooler of cold Diet Dr Peppers, and six bags of trail mix.

  Boy, would I ever miss Kiki.

  After twelve hours on the road, including a long patch of moving at a slug's pace through another construction zone, my head was nodding. I pulled off and checked into a motel somewhere in Georgia. I slept in my clothes and woke up with a crick in my neck, but there was this marvelous sense of freedom. A lightness of being. Perhaps the idea of having a new adventure was proving to be the tonic I needed.

  As the miles flew by, I formulated a plan. At this rate, I'd arrive in Coral Gables, the suburban home of the University of Miami, more than a week early for Parents' Weekend. After visiting with my son, Tommy, who'd just begun his freshman year, I would check into the Biltmore Hotel. There I would submit to glorious pampering, spending my days beside the pool, and working on a tan. If I felt ambitious, I'd drive into Miami proper and wander the shops for new clothes. By the time the big weekend rolled around, I would be looking fit, tan, rested, and stylish.

  Maybe that's all I needed to get things back on track...a good tan.

  Right.

  The truth was—and I knew it—that I needed to get a life.

  After two decades of being a good daughter and loving mother, I was finally on my own. As I had told Kiki, “I have no idea what to do next. I've never had all these choices.”

  “Take it one step at a time, Cara,” she had suggested. “Is there anyone you'd like to visit? Family?”

  “Everyone is gone but Tommy.” I had lied so quickly that I surprised myself.

  Actually, a drive to Coral Gables would take me right past Stuart, Florida, home of my mother's father, Poppy. I hadn't visited Stuart for years, and I didn't plan to stop by and see Poppy there now, because I was not happy with him.

  He'd flown up to St. Louis for Mom's funeral but skipped Dad's. That had really honked me off. My father had made it a point to fly down to Florida and spend two solid weeks with Poppy every year, no matter what. Dad continued his visits after Poppy and his daughter (Mom) had become so unhappy with each other that they barely spoke. Yes, it had been my father, Poppy's son-in-law, who had gone the extra mile to maintain the relationship. After all that, Poppy couldn't find the time to attend Dad's funeral? Couldn't be bothered to show his respect? I found his behavior outrageous.

  It hurt me that Poppy didn't realize how badly I needed him. He'd always been very sweet and loving to me, even if he didn't always get along with my mother. So why didn't he offer me his support after my father died?

  That sort of calloused indifference went a long way toward explaining why my mother didn't care for her father. In addition to being selfish, Poppy could get grumpy, and at his worst, he would act like a bully. Although I lacked concrete evidence, I always figured that somewhere along the line, Mom had decided she'd had enough. As a result, she decided to keep her distance from Poppy.

  My father shrugged off Poppy's ill humor. Dad believed in giving people the benefit of the doubt. Poppy and my father, Thomas, were like night and day. Dad had a sunny outlook on life and thought the best of everyone. There wasn't a negative bone in his body.

  When he got in one of his moods, Poppy could make the Grim Reaper look downright cheery.

  I wasn't exactly eager to spend more time with my grandfather. That's why I lied to Kiki about having family. I wasn't sure that Poppy really qualified as such, even though we were blood kin. When he let me down, I decided that I, too, could do without him. As my father always said, “A little bit of Poppy goes a long, long way.”

  If I were being totally candid, there was another reason for me to bypass Stuart. That could be summed up in two words: lost chances. Stuart forced me to think about what might have been. How my life might have turned out if fate—in the guise of my mother—hadn't intervened.

  I shook my head to clear it. I couldn't handle any more heavy thoughts. Not as tired as I was. But even as I worked on pretending none of this mattered, I knew that it did. It mattered terribly. I might look like my mother, but I am my father's daughter, and therefore, I couldn't ignore my grandfather entirely. As a compromise, I decided I would stop on my way back and check in on Poppy. Our visit could wait until after I spent a week at the Biltmore drinking up sunshine and chugging down cocktails. My decision quelled my sense of guilt as the miles flew by.

  Jacksonville marks the northernmost big city in Florida. The traffic clotted thick as corn pudding there. As I threaded my way south along I-95, I admired the billboards for Cocoa Beach. I pulled off the highway and stopped at the Ron Jon Surf Shop. There I bought a couple of tee shirts for Tommy. It felt good to stretch my legs, as a creeping sense of weariness worked its way through my body. Twenty miles south of Vero Beach, my black Camry burped. Actually burped, making a noise like a caller might report on Car Talk.

  I decided to ignore it.

  Ten miles later, my car hiccupped and lost power. Luckily I-95 is four lane, and I didn't need any pick up. Had it been two lane and if I'd been passing, well, I would have been bruschetta.

  “What's wrong, Black Beauty?” I patted the dashboard. “Do you need a new oil filter? Hang in there, babe. I'll get you one in Miami.”

  My car chose not to cooperate. Five miles north of Stuart, the Camry shuddered violently as if I'd hit a deer.

  Now that put a scare into me.

&
nbsp; “I give up!” I said. “You win! No breakdowns on the highway!”

  Reluctantly, I followed the Cove Road exit that would take me to Poppy and his gas station.

  CHAPTER 3

  As the exit turned into Cove Road proper, I didn't recognize a thing. Nothing. Nada. In my mind, Stuart was still a sleepy little fishing village, but as clearly the place had grown into a bustling town. Oh, there were a few familiar sights: the building shaped like a giant vanilla soft serve cone, the old cemetery, and the crumbling houses painted blue to frighten away evil spirits. The railroad tracks still jostled tires angrily as I crossed the rails and turned north toward the business district, following Old Dixie Highway. It had once been a barren stretch of asphalt, but to my surprise, shops now muscled each other for space along both sides of the highway. I might have passed up the turn for the business district, except for the classy blue and gold signs directing me to “Historic Downtown Stuart.”

  My jaw dropped as I drove past a cluster of shops, eateries, and little salons. Back in my youth, there had been open fields. Blank spaces between buildings. But not anymore.

  Downtown Stuart sported a new round-about featuring a fountain topped by a statue of a leaping sailfish. No wonder the town had recently been named one of America's most beautiful cities. Like an awkward teenager who becomes a pretty young woman, Stuart had grown into a lovely, vibrant town.

  “Wow,” I said, patting the wooden box with Sven's ashes. “Sure doesn't look like Kansas, Toto.”

  Fortunately some things never change. It didn't take me long to spot Poppy's place: Dick's Gas E Bait.

  That stupid sign never failed to turn my mother beet-red. Not only did she hate the wording, she resented her father's cavalier reaction to the bad joke.