Chances Are

Chances Are
Donna Hill

A test of passion…Dione Williams knew what it was like to be young and pregnant with nowhere to go. Years later, through hard work and sheer force of will, she had provided a good life for her daughter and started a successful home for teenage mothers and their babies. But from the moment television producer Garrett Lawrence began a story on the teen center, Dione's hard-won confidence was shaken. How could a man she found so attractive and intelligent be so cynical about unwed mothers? Battling her conflicted emotions, Dione would have to defend the work she believed in–even if it cost her a love that promised a lifetime of happiness.A test of love…Garrett didn't think much of "irresponsible" teen mothers. He knew firsthand the misery of being given away and searching for the acceptance he never could seem to find. Although he found himself drawn closer and closer to Dione because of her independence and passionate determination, his painful past kept getting in the way. Now Garrett and Dione must find their way to each other through a search only the heart can undertake–and only love can bring.

Chances Are

Chances Are

Donna Hill

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Chances Are is sincerely dedicated

to the wonderful young women and their

children who I had the pleasure of working

with in a setting very much like Chances,

and who provided the inspiration for this

story. I think of you all often, and wish you all

continued success and many blessings.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Prologue

Fear, such as she’d never known, rose along her flesh like prickly heat then spread mercilessly through her slender seventeen-year-old frame. Every limb ached, partly from the uncontrollable tremors that rocked her, but mostly from the vicious beating inflicted upon her by her father—with the two-inch thick, black leather strap that he used to sharpen his razor—even as he prayed to God for forgiveness, and tears of remorse coursed down his tortured cheeks. If her mother hadn’t finally pulled him off her, she was certain she’d be dead.

Cowering in the farthest corner of her bed, eyes swollen, throat raw from crying, she jumped at the sound of breaking glass and raised voices from the floor below. Her parents had been screaming and yelling at each other for what seemed an eternity. And it was all her fault. Her fault.

Oh, God, what would she give to turn back the clock, use her head and remember all the lessons that had been drilled into her over the years? How could she ever face her mother again and not feel her shame, or face her father and not feel worthless and dirty? She didn’t know if she ever could.

Fresh tears coursed down Dione’s cheeks, surprising her. She was sure she’d had no more tears to shed. And then, suddenly, the three-story brownstone on Madison Street, grew silent, which was more frightening than the noise.

She sat up in the bed, listening. The front door slammed, rocking the house. Then she heard footsteps on the stairs. They were light. Her mother.

The door opened and her mother stepped into the dimness of the frilly, but precisely ordered bedroom. Margaret Williams didn’t say a word, but went straight to Dione’s closet, took out a suitcase and began pulling clothes off hangers then out of drawers, stuffing them inside.

Dione watched in silence, her horror mounting with each breath she took.

Her mother snapped the suitcase shut and turned toward her daughter, unable or unwilling to meet Dione’s pleading eyes. She reached into the pocket of her pale peach robe, pulled out a thick, white envelope and handed it to Dione.

“You have to leave. Now. Your father doesn’t want you here when he gets back.”

Dione’s eyes widened in terror, her stomach lurched and seemed to rise to her chest. “Mommy, please! Don’t let him do this to me.”

“There’s nothing I can do. I can’t go against your father. I can’t.”

“Where can I go? What will I do?”

“You should have thought about that before—” Her voice broke. She turned away and walked toward the door.