Twice the Chance

“Thanks for sharing, kids, but you’re not helping,” the man said with an exaggerated grimace. He moved close enough to Jazz to extend a hand. “I’m Matt Caminetti. And these blabbermouths are Brooke and Robbie, my sister’s children.”

“I’m Jazz,” she said, deliberately omitting her last name. She had a vague impression of warmth when his hand clasped hers. Her mind whirled even as she greeted the children. Would it be a mistake to spend more time in their presence?

“Come on, Jazz. Let’s get that first-aid kit.” Matt took the decision out of her hands, turning back toward the grassy field and heading for the soccer goal. Brooke and Robbie skipped along beside him. After a moment’s hesitation, Jazz followed.

“Race you!” Robbie called to his sister and took off at a dead run.

“No fair!” Brooke complained even as she raced after him, gaining steadily with every stride.

“Wow,” Jazz said to Matt, “she’s fast.”

“It’s tough on Robbie having a sister who’s so athletic. She could beat him at just about anything if she tried. Except half the time she lets him win.”

Jazz’s heart pounded even faster than it had when she was keeping up her seven-minutes-a-mile pace. “They look a lot alike. Are they twins?”

“Yep,” he said. “Makes the whole competition thing even harder for Robbie.”

She tried to keep her voice from trembling. “How old are they? Seven? Eight?”

“Eight,” he said. Jazz’s heart squeezed. The twins she’d given away would have been eight last month. “I think,” Matt continued. “Or maybe they’re seven. I see them all the time but I lose track.”

Ahead of them, Brooke put on a burst of speed to draw even with Robbie, then slowed down noticeably. Brother and sister ran alongside each other for a few strides before Robbie stumbled, his arms windmilling as he righted himself. Brooke reached the goal inches ahead of her brother.

“You only won because I tripped!” Robbie cried.

Brooke settled her hands on her slim hips in a pose Jazz had seen females use countless times when dealing with a difficult male. “Whatever.”

“Let’s go again!”

“No.”

“What are you?” Robbie got right in her face. “Chicken?”

“Guys, stop! You’ll scare away Jazz,” Matt yelled to them good-naturedly, as though he’d heard it all before.

Matt continued walking to an athletic bag lying behind the goal and crouched down beside it. He looked up at Jazz with eyes that were a light brown instead of green like his niece and nephew’s. “Is Jazz short for Jasmine?”

She wanted to ask the questions, specifically whether his sister had adopted Brooke and Robbie and the exact date of their birth. Except she couldn’t think of a way to work those topics into the conversation.

“It’s just Jazz,” she said. “My mother liked the music.”

“I like the name.” He smiled at her before digging into his bag and pulling out the first-aid kit. “My sister gave this to me for a Christmas present when I started spending lots of time with her kids. She’s kind of overprotective.”

“Is she a redhead, too?” Jazz ventured, although that wouldn’t tell her anything definitive. The gene for red hair was recessive.

“Nope.” He opened the kit and pulled out antiseptic and a cotton swab. “Come closer and I’ll clean that for you. The bleeding’s stopped but this could smart.”

She complied, the sting of the antiseptic barely registering while she tried to figure out how to extract more information. Her head started to pound when nothing occurred to her. She’d make a terrible investigative reporter.

“The cut’s not too bad, but it needs a bandage.” He took one out of his bag, tore off the packaging and positioned it over her skin. “How’s the shoulder? You’re holding it like it hurts.”

She concentrated on his question instead of Brooke and Robbie kicking the soccer ball back and forth a few feet away. The throbbing had subsided to a manageable level. “It’s okay.”

“You should probably see a doctor,” he said. “At the very least, ice it and take some ibuprofen.”

“Are you done yet, Uncle Matt?” Robbie called. “You said we’d work on my corner kicks next.”

“Just a sec,” he called, then peered at Jazz. “Do you need a ride home? My car’s just over there in the parking lot. It’s getting too hot to stay much longer anyway.”

She fought the temptation to accept and gestured vaguely to the trail. “Thanks, but I don’t live far from here.”

He seemed about to protest, but then said, “Okay. Just remember to ice your shoulder. Nice meeting you, Jazz.”

“You, too.” She drank in the sight of the children who might be hers, assuring herself she was doing all of them a favor by cutting off the acquaintance. “Bye, Brooke, Robbie.”

“Bye!” the children said in unison, but Robbie was already picking up the soccer ball and running to his uncle. Brooke was humming a pretty little tune.

Jazz turned away, feeling an ache that had nothing to do with her injuries.

She’d taken maybe ten steps when Matt Caminetti called to her, “Hey, Jazz.”

She whirled.

“We’ll be here Sunday mornings after church until fall soccer starts and probably even after that, too,” he said. “Stop by and say hi.”

She raised a hand in acknowledgment before turning her back and walking out of their lives. She wouldn’t accept his invitation no matter how tempting.

Neither would Matt Caminetti have issued it if he’d known Jazz had given birth to redheaded twins while serving a prison sentence for committing a felony.

CHAPTER TWO

MATT SKIMMED the offerings on the lunch menu on a Monday more than two weeks later while breathing in the maple-syrup-scented air. Pancakes with strawberries. Gingerbread pancakes. Cinnamon pumpkin pancakes. German apple pancakes. The list was virtually endless.

“You two ready to order?” A blonde waitress in her mid-to late-twenties with the name Sadie written on her name tag stood beside their table, order pad in hand. She had a girlish voice and a figure that was anything but juvenile, shown to advantage by a gold uniform that hugged every curve.

“You go first, Matt.” Matt’s sixteen-year-old brother Danny spoke without lifting his dark head from the extensive array of pancake choices.

Matt closed his menu and set it down on the table. “I’ll have a chicken sandwich and unsweetened iced tea.”

Sadie lifted one finely plucked eyebrow. “You sure? We’re not named Pancake Palace for nothing.”

“I’m sure,” Matt said. No point inviting questions by revealing he wasn’t overly fond of pancakes.

He hadn’t heard of the restaurant until he’d noticed the place advertised on Jazz’s T-shirt as the sponsor of a local 10K race. Matt had been at Ashley Greens Park twice with the twins since he’d bandaged her leg, but she hadn’t shown up. That was cool with him. Or so he thought until he’d spotted the Pancake Palace sign from the car and suggested he and Danny stop for lunch.

His impulsiveness hadn’t paid off. The only other waitress moving about the tables and booths was a shorter, rounder version of his mother.

“Whatever you want, I’m happy to oblige.” Sadie held Matt’s gaze a few beats longer than necessary before shifting her attention to Danny. “You want me to come back, hon?”