Miracle on Chance Avenue

by Jane Porter

  He wasn’t a man that settled down, and yet she made him yearn for a life he hadn’t lived or known.

  It was a shame he wasn’t younger and less scarred.

  It was a shame he’d lost his trust and innocence as a sixteen-year-old.

  Eyes narrowed, he slid the key into the lock and turned. The door opened easily.

  Sadie groaned behind him. “You made that look so easy.”

  He felt his lips quirk and he glanced back at her, taking in the high cheekbones, the angle of her jaw, the fullness of her mouth. She was so beautiful. One in a million, this angel girl.

  “After you,” he said, pushing the door open.

  She stepped into the house, turning on lights as she crossed the threshold. “It’s not very big,” she said, “but it’s got everything. You’ll be comfortable.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he knew, that the house was his and he’d placed it with Marietta Properties to manage for him, but somehow he knew it’d just end up flustering her. Far better to let her do her job and then sometime, another time, he could tell her when she wasn’t all pins and needles.

  “Not sure if you remember, but this is one of the original buildings from frontier Marietta,” she said, closing the door behind him and heading across the open floor plan to the kitchen. “A couple years ago someone bought it and converted it into a rental house. It’s really popular and almost always booked.”

  Rory followed her to the island, glad to see that the small snug house, reminiscent of the early homesteader cabins still dotting Montana, looked just as good as the last time he’d been here, which was just about three years ago. This stable conversion was probably his favorite renovation he’d ever done. He’d insisted that the architectural integrity of the exterior be protected, but the interior had been reimagined with new walls, windows, and roof, stabilizing the historic structure to ensure it’d survive the harsh Montana winters for another hundred years. Inside the old stable, reclaimed lumber and salvaged materials gave the new living room, bedroom, kitchen, and bath comfort and style.

  “There’s coffee in the canister next to the espresso machine, and milk in the fridge,” she added, placing the key ring on the creamy marble-topped island. “If you have any problems, don’t hesitate to call the office. I’m sure you have the number, but here’s one of the company business cards just in case.” She pulled the business card from her coat pocket and set it next to the key. “Any questions?”

  He picked up the card, scrutinizing the name and number, Natalie Hicks, President of Marietta Properties. “How do I reach you?” he asked, looking up at Sadie.

  She smiled crookedly and tugged her knit cap lower. “Natalie owns the business. You’ll want to deal with her if there’s a problem.”

  “But what if I want to talk to you?”

  “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I’ve made a fortune off bad ideas.”

  Her lips twisted, her expression rueful. “True.”

  “In fact, I make bad ideas seem pretty cool.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “No?”

  “No.” She studied him for a long moment, her faint smile fading, leaving her beautiful features stark and somber. “You have a death wish, Rory Douglas, and it scares me so much.”

  “Every bull rider does.”

  “Maybe, but most guys wise up sooner. No one stays in the game as long as you.”

  “I like life on the road.”

  “Because you don’t know how to settle down.”

  He didn’t protest. There was no point. She was right.

  “I was hoping you’d tell me I was wrong,” she said after a silence that stretched on far too long. “I was hoping you’d learned to deal with your demons.”

  “Where would be the fun in that?”

  “At least you’re honest.”

  “I’ll always be honest with you.”

  She looked away, brow furrowing. “When do you leave?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “You can drop the key off at the office, or just leave it here and the cleaning lady will return it to us.”

  “Will do.”

  She started for the door. His voice stopped her at the threshold. “Just one more question,” he said.

  She turned and faced him.

  “We never talked, but I always felt like you were there for me at each of those events,” he said. “Was it true, or was I just being wishful?”

  “I was there, but I won’t go again. Watching that bull gore you back in August was more than I could handle.”

  “It wasn’t a good night.”

  “Understatement of the year.” She tried to smile but failed, and shook her head instead. “You’re a dangerous man playing a dangerous game, and one day it’s going to catch up with you. I’m just glad I’m not going to be there when it happens.” Then she closed the distance between them and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “But it was so good to see you once more.” She squeezed his arm and stepped away. “Unexpected but rather perfect because it’s almost Christmas.”

  And then with a last faint, wistful smile, she walked out of the snug little house and into the cold white night.

  Chapter Two

  Sadie couldn’t sleep. The house was so quiet, far too quiet without Mom—

  But that wasn’t what was keeping her up.

  Yes, she missed her mom, but she couldn’t sleep because she couldn’t stop thinking about Rory.

  Why was he back?

  It’d been years since he last returned. Three years to be precise. And he’d only come home then because McKenna was getting married to Phil, but then McKenna’s high school sweetheart, Trey Sheenan, interrupted the wedding and kidnapped McKenna and TJ. After the wedding that wasn’t, Rory and Quinn Douglas headed to Grey’s Saloon on Main Street for a couple of drinks, and most of the wedding party followed. Sadie wasn’t a bridesmaid, but she’d helped with the guest book, and so she wandered over, too.

  She wasn’t one of the regulars that frequented Grey’s, but she went that evening because Rory was there. Rory was a magnet. She’d never been able to resist him. That night at Grey’s he’d been quiet, letting Quinn and the Sheenan brothers hold center court, but she’d been aware of Rory the entire time. She’d heard him tell one of the girls that he’d be moving back to Marietta soon, and even though those words weren’t spoken to her, they’d filled her with relief. If he was coming back, that meant he was leaving the tour.

  Finally. Finally, he’d be safe.

  Only he didn’t mean it. He continued competing, and he continued living on the road, and he just got more injured and damaged every year.

  In hindsight, she should have realized he’d been drinking when he said what he did, and he was trying to say goodbye, and it always sounded better to tell people what they wanted to hear.

  It wasn’t until she visited him in the hospital in Fresno that she realized she was the problem, not him.

  He’d never asked her to wait for him.

  He’d never asked her to care.

  He didn’t even know who she was.

  That was when she gave him up. Not him, of course, because she’d never had him, but the idea of him, and the hope that he could find life, and meaning, beyond the circuit.

  And now, just when she thought she’d moved on, he was back, and she was tossing and turning, sleepless and conflicted, two things she shouldn’t be since she’d vowed to stop thinking and caring about him. Unfortunately, old habits were hard to break, and she’d been obsessing about Rory since she was thirteen.

  Annoyed, Sadie tossed back the covers and left her bed, yanking on a thick sweatshirt over her pajama top and then pulling sweat pants over the bottoms before heading into the dining room. She’d turned the small dining room into her workshop since the garage was freezing this time of year.

  Picking up a sheet of sandpaper, she sat down in front of the small dresser she was refinishing and began b
uffing off the varnish. Sadie had grown up haunting garage sales, thrift stores, and flea markets with her mother, but the scavenging hadn’t been for fun, it was a necessity. Her mom worked as a cleaning woman for the mayor of Marietta and other wealthy people in the nice part of town, but being a cleaner didn’t pay much and money was always tight. Her mom never complained, though. She just made do and improvised. When rich families discarded throw pillows because the seam was ripped, or tossed a perfectly good lamp because the wiring was loose, her mom would repair the pillow and rewire the lamp and then she’d sell them, making a small profit. Those small profits added up and paid for repairs on their station wagon and new shingles to patch their old roof.

  When Sadie was too young to be left home, Mom would sometimes take her to work and give Sadie tasks, showing her how to remove burn marks from a dining room table, or how to remove scuffs from glossy, white baseboards and trim with a little bit of white cleaning powder and a soft damp cloth.

  It was inevitable that Sadie would learn how to renew and refurbish furniture and fabrics. She’d grown up salvaging goods, and it turned out she had a good eye for design and so when she wasn’t flying for Big Sky Air, she made headboards and coffee tables and painted dressers that were snapped up the moment she listed them on her The Montana Rose website. It was a fun and flexible second job that helped supplement her income.

  But refinishing furniture now just made her miss Mom more. It wasn’t the same without her. The house needed noise and activity, as well as the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen. Pumpkin pie. Roast chicken. Pork chops and spiced apples. The house needed a family. Correction, she needed a family. She wanted children.

  Love.

  Sadie put down the sandpaper and exhaled slowly.

  She was thirty-five, and she’d been so sure she would have at least a couple of children by now. Instead, she was wide awake, sanding an old dresser in the middle of the night, to stave off loneliness and heartache.

  It was her own fault she was still single.

  Plenty of men had asked her out, and she’d tried dating, she had, but her heart wasn’t in it because none of them were Rory. None of them were as handsome, as rugged, as dedicated. Or as destructive.

  Taking a soft cloth to the dresser top, she wiped away the fine layer of dust before gently running her fingertips across the dresser surface. It was finally satin smooth. Ready for fresh paint and her magic.

  Friends had asked her over the years if it was difficult refinishing furniture and she’d always said no. It seemed she had a gift for turning something scarred and damaged into something beautiful.

  Maybe that was why she’d hung on to the dream of Rory for so long.

  Thanks to his pain meds, Rory fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow but he was awake early, and once awake he wasn’t going to fall back asleep. It didn’t help that his very first thought was Sadie, and just thinking of her made his body hum and ache.

  All these years he’d looked for her, and it had never once crossed his mind that she was from home.

  It was almost laughable to realize that the woman who’d haunted him for years was from Marietta, the one place he didn’t want to go or be.

  He’d replayed that last conversation with her at the hospital over and over, and it never changed.

  He could still feel the pain as he gradually came to, his wrapped wrist and fingers slamming into metal bars and then the hard plastic frame of the hospital bed.

  That was when he realized he hadn’t died and was trapped somewhere in a dark hospital room. He muttered curse words, as rough and dirty as they came.

  “I’ve just rung for the nurse,” a low voice had said from the right side of the bed. “She should be here soon.”

  He was pissed off and agitated. “Is it dark in here, or is something covering my eyes?”

  “Both.”

  “Why?”

  “The doctor is supposed to cover that with you—”

  “If you’re not a doctor or a nurse, then who are you?”

  She didn’t answer right away which just made his head throb more. “You’re not from the tour, are you?” he snapped. “Because I don’t need a babysitter.”

  He understood why the front office needed to manage some of the riders, but he wasn’t one of the athletes in need of handling. Despite his injuries, he showed up, and he did the job he’d been hired to do, which was to put on a good show and keep the fans happy. Rory was popular with the fans too, as he could always be counted on to show up for the signings and events, spending time with everyone, from taking pictures with the old ladies and young girls to kissing babies and posing with young cowboys.

  “Not with the American Extreme Tour, no.” She hesitated. “I’m Sadie. Sadie Mann.” She hesitated again as if giving him time to put the pieces together.

  “Do I know you?”

  “I’m a friend of Mc—” She broke off, failing to finish.

  “Mick who? I don’t know a Mick, do I?”

  “Maybe I got it wrong.” Her voice was faint as if she’d moved away from his bed. She hesitated a moment. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Don’t need a lecture now.” His voice was sharp, but he didn’t care. He knew bull riding was dangerous. It’s why he did it. He also seemed to be good at it. At least, good enough to still be alive and bringing in money. Sometimes not very much money but sometimes quite a bit, and money was money, even if he earned it between emergency room visits. “So how did you say I know you?”

  “I didn’t.”

  He heard the bruised note in her voice. He’d hurt her. Rory tensed, which just made him hurt all over.

  He didn’t need this now. He didn’t need the guilt or grief—and then he stopped himself as he pictured dark red hair, high cheekbones, and wide serious eyes. It couldn’t be the woman from the arena, could it?

  “Let me get the nurse.” Her fingertips brushed his bicep, warm skin against skin, sparking something hot and elemental within him. Then she was gone.

  He waited for her, that night, and the next day, and the day after that, but she never returned.

  He didn’t know why she didn’t come back, and he’d tried to find her, looking her name up on the Internet, and there were thirty-one Sadie Manns, and eighteen Sadie Mans, and fourteen Saydee Manns, and it just went on from there.

  He even tried to call a couple of them but it was an exercise in futility and humility, and after the third awkward call he gave up, not because he’d given up on finding her, but he figured she’d find him when she was ready.

  But it wasn’t easy waiting for her to appear. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman, which didn’t make sense because he knew nothing about her. But maybe desire didn’t have to make sense. Maybe desire was just that... His need didn’t make sense, but then, maybe desire never did.

  Just seeing her last night stirred the attraction, waking the desire. It’d be easy if he could write the attraction off as pure lust, but it wasn’t just his groin that ached, his entire chest felt tender, his rib cage so tight that every breath bruised.

  He didn’t even know Sadie Mann, and yet she was his. He’d known she was his every time she’d showed up at one of the stadiums and arenas. And if that wasn’t crazy, he didn’t know what was.

  He hadn’t come back to Marietta for her. Heck, he hadn’t even known she was from here, but maybe it was fate that brought him back. Maybe he was supposed to know her and make things right with her. Because God knew he didn’t need this apartment complex the bank was auctioning in the morning.

  His usual investments were still structurally sound and in a good part of town. This complex was on the wrong side of the tracks, anchoring Farrell and Chance Avenues, two streets that no one chose to live on if they could live somewhere else.

  Rory made an espresso in the kitchen and then opened his laptop to review the details of the apartment complex. It had been vacant for over two years now. From the photos, it looked f
airly decrepit. Local kids had done a good job vandalizing it.

  He didn’t want it.

  He didn’t.

  He didn’t even know why he’d driven all this way from his ranch in Wyoming to look at it. It was a waste of time and energy—

  But maybe he did know.

  Rory closed the computer.

  Maybe the apartment complex was the tool... the opportunity.

  If he hadn’t come for the auction this weekend... if he hadn’t booked the rental house... he wouldn’t have found Sadie.

  If he hadn’t come, he’d be looking up the definition of desire again and wondering why he couldn’t forget her. Desire. Want. Wish. Crave.

  No longer interested in crunching numbers again, or playing out the different scenarios for purchasing and renovating the building, he showered and dressed and headed to his truck, his cane essential in the icy morning.

  After clearing the snow off the windshield, he drove the four short blocks to Main Street, parking on the virtually deserted street. It was only seven, and all the stores were closed, with only the bakeries, diner, and Java Café open on a Saturday morning.

  With two hours to kill before the auction, Rory parked in front of Java Café. The café was as quiet as the street and the tall, lean teenager working the counter gave him a nod but didn’t try to engage in small talk after taking Rory’s order.

  Rory was glad for the lack of chitchat. Driving down Main Street stirred a lifetime of memories, more parts bitter than sweet. It wasn’t Marietta’s fault that he didn’t like coming home. The town and people had been nothing but good to him, embracing him and his sister and brother, but the sheer amount of love the folks showed the surviving Douglas kids, undid him.

  Rory was at his best when he didn’t feel. He preferred to be analytical, not emotional. And Marietta always made him emotional. It was why there were three things he avoided—

  Christmas.

  Marietta.

  And Marietta during Christmas.