Miracle on Chance Avenue

by Jane Porter

  “Guilt is such a strong word.”

  “It is. And guilt is such a heavy thing. But it’s not what makes me want to be around you. You make me want to be around you. I love the way you enter a room. You walk like a rock star and it makes me smile, every single time. And then I love the way you smile... it’s so sexy and confident and the fact that you are so sexy and confident drives me mad because I’ve never felt that way once in my life.” She took a quick breath. “I love your eyes. They are so blue. And when you smile, your eyes smile, and you get these little creases here.” She reached out and gently touched the corner of his eye.

  “And I love the way you kiss me,” she added after a moment. “And the way you tease me. You make me laugh, and when I’m not panicking, you really make me happy.”

  He looked into her eyes for a long moment. “Why do you panic?”

  “Because I’m afraid of having the very thing I always dreamed of.”

  He didn’t blink. His gaze never wavered. “Maybe I’m not it... him... the dream. Maybe I’m just the place holder until you meet the one. The right one.”

  His words felt like a knife in her heart. She exhaled slowly, trying to manage the pain. “I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t think you might be... the one. I wouldn’t have made myself sick today if I didn’t genuinely care.”

  “I don’t doubt that you care. But that doesn’t mean we’re necessarily right for each other. Maybe we did get ahead of ourselves. Maybe this is a good time to take a step back. As you said, you have options. You have your donors—”

  She kissed him to stop his words. She couldn’t bear to listen another moment longer. His mouth was firm and cool. He didn’t try to kiss her back.

  Her eyes burned, but she wouldn’t give up. Lightly she stroked his cheek, and then the line of his jaw. “I waited forever for you to come home,” she whispered. “Please don’t give up on me so soon.”

  His hand clasped the back of her head, holding her still, while he kissed her deeply, fiercely, kissing her as though her mouth and her body and soul belonged to him. She was trembling by the time he lifted his head, and she had to lean against him, heart hammering, legs unsteady.

  “Take it easy, sweetheart.” He ran his hand through her thick hair, pushing it back from her face. “Haven’t given up. Not even close.”

  “Even though it’s been one tumultuous ride?”

  He smiled his lazy, daredevil smile. “That’s my favorite kind,” he said, before kissing her for a long, long time.

  Rory worked out Tuesday morning and then went to breakfast at the diner and after breakfast he entered Risa’s flower shop, ordering flowers to be delivered to Sadie at Marietta Properties this afternoon.

  He held the pen over the small cream florist card, trying to think of something appropriate to say. He hadn’t sent flowers to a woman since... well ever. No, not true. He’d sent flowers to McKenna after the birth of each of her babies. But that didn’t count. Sending his sister flowers wasn’t the same as sending his love interest flowers, especially after a bumpy day.

  What did you say on a card the size of matchbook? There wasn’t room for anything. Rory frowned, and tapped the pen against the counter, aware that the florist was waiting, patiently. Finally he scrawled, Not from Paul. And then slipped the card in the envelope and handed it to the woman.

  Sadie was at her desk when the huge vase of red roses, white freesias, tulips, and miniature candy canes arrived. It was a massive arrangement, requiring her to shift her computer monitor over so the arrangement could have a huge chunk of her desk.

  Natalie emerged from her office. “Wow. That’s some serious love. Who is it from?”

  “I don’t know.” Sadie searched in the red-and-white blossoms for a card, and finally found it attached to a candy cane. She opened the sealed envelope and drew out the stiff ivory card. Not from Paul.

  Sadie smiled, and couldn’t stop smiling.

  He was awful, and wonderful. Arrogant, confident, strong, patient, forgiving.

  “Stop grinning like the Cheshire cat,” Natalie said. “Who sent them?”

  “Rory,” Sadie said, slipping the card back in the envelope.

  “What did he say to make you smile like that?”

  “Not from Paul.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s an inside joke.”

  “How is that romantic?”

  Her lips lifted. “It’s not, but that’s what makes it kind of perfect.”

  Wednesday night, Sadie met Rory downtown at the Chinese restaurant next door to the movie theater. He’d offered to pick her up, but she told him she needed to go check on one of the rental properties and make sure the cleaning crew had come as new guests were arriving tomorrow.

  He accepted her explanation and yet she felt a twinge of guilt, and she really didn’t want or need to feel more guilt, not when it came to Rory. The guilt was oppressive and it wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Nothing bad had taken place at her house, and yet her party had been ruined, and Sadie had never liked celebrating her birthday afterward because her birthday was the anniversary of the Douglas Ranch murders. And every year on her birthday, the newspapers would have a story somewhere on the front page, or another prominent page about the unsolved murders of the Douglas family.

  Sadie pushed away the memories and entered the restaurant, checking to see if Rory had already arrived. While she spoke to the hostess, the front door opened and Rory entered, looking every bit as handsome as a movie star.

  Everything seemed to light up inside of her as he walked toward her, and she smiled a wide, bright smile, unable to hide her happiness.

  She was crazy about him.

  “Hello, angel girl,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

  She lifted her face and he kissed her lips.

  “I loved my flowers,” she said, still smiling, and feeling as if it was Christmas. “Thank you so much.”

  “My pleasure.”

  They were seated at a cozy corner table and immediately served hot tea which was the perfect way to start the meal on such a chilly night.

  Sadie couldn’t remember the last time she had Chinese food, and she certainly couldn’t remember when it tasted this good. Admittedly, Chinese food in Marietta Montana wasn’t very authentic, but everything was delicious. The pot stickers were golden and firm on the outside and tender on the inside. The chow mein was full of tender bites of chicken and pork and shrimp. Best of all, Rory was great company. They talked about nothing and everything, the hour passing so quickly that they had to rush out of the restaurant with their fortune cookies in their hands to make the seven thirty showing of the film.

  “I hope they still have seats,” he said.

  “It’s a big theater,” she answered.

  After all that rushing, they laughed as they entered the auditorium and discovered it nearly empty.

  “Maybe they’re still trying to park,” she said.

  “Or maybe they’re stuck in traffic.”

  “Because Marietta has so much traffic,” she teased, as they found seats in the middle of the auditorium.

  Minutes later the theater darkened and a half dozen previews played before the film began.

  Rory took her hand as the opening scene of Holiday Inn unfolded, and she felt a bubble of warmth fill her chest. Her hand belonged in his. She belonged with him. For the first time in forever, everything felt right in her world. And even though her mom was gone, Sadie couldn’t help but think that if her mother knew Rory, the real Rory, she’d approve of him. It was just a shame she died without ever knowing how wonderful Rory Douglas really was.

  “You’re quiet,” Rory said, as they slowly left the theater, arm in arm.

  “Just thinking about Mom, and how we always watched the Christmas movies together. We loved the classics. We would watch as many as we could every year. This one was one of our favorites.”

  “But it’s made you sad.”

  “Not sad,
just... a little wistful.” She glanced up at him. “I wish my mom had met you. She heard me talk about you, but it’s not the same thing. You’re so much... more... than I even imagined.”

  “What did you imagine?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the problem with fantasies. You’re not dealing in reality. I never really knew you.”

  “So why did you like me?”

  “Because you’re handsome—that’s very shallow, I realize—but it’s true. And I fell for your smile early on. I remember it from high school. And you had this great shaggy head of hair, a dark dirty blond that went perfect with your tan.”

  “I haven’t heard anything yet about my intelligence, or my keen wit.”

  She gurgled with laughter. “You are funny.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And smart, and fascinating, and I’ve been fascinated by you forever.”

  “So if you liked me so much, why not come talk to me all those years ago? Why not introduce yourself?”

  “I told you. I got scared. I psyched myself out.”

  “Not judging you, sweetheart, but I don’t get it.”

  “I know, but you’re a bull rider. You risk your life every night you compete. It’s natural for you to race toward danger. I don’t like danger.”

  “And yet you worked as a flight attendant for ten years.”

  “That was different. I wasn’t flying the plane. I was just making sure the customers were comfortable and safe. See? Safety first. I’m actually massively risk adverse.”

  “I’m beginning to think that’s why you never married. It’s a risk.”

  “You’re not wrong. Becoming a mom doesn’t scare me as much as falling in love.”

  “Remember how you idealized me a little tiny bit?”

  She blushed. “Yes, and your point is?”

  “I’m concerned you’re idealizing motherhood, too. It’s not going to be easy being a parent.”

  “I know, but I’m ready for it, and maybe it’s my age, and the ticking of the biological clock, but I’m ready for the rest of my life. I want everything that I waited for, everything that other women my age have.”

  “Such as?”

  “Babies and diapers and play dates. Birthday cakes and parties and stockings and Christmas presents. I don’t want to have a quiet little life. I want kids and noise and chaos. I want a cookie jar on my counter always full of freshly baked cookies and little people coming in and out to ask what’s for dinner.”

  “That sounds wonderful, but you never mention a man.”

  They stood on the street corner facing each other.

  “You always mention children,” he added, “but you never say anything about having a husband to love, or a father for the kids.”

  “I don’t mean it to sound that way. I guess I’ve learned to focus on the things I can control. I can’t be a father, but I can be a great mother, and that’s why years ago I decided to be that mom who volunteers for everything. I’m going to be as involved as I possibly can be... chaperoning field trips, organizing talent shows, sewing costumes for the Christmas pageant.” She wrapped her scarf more snugly around her throat. “I actually can’t wait to make sheep and camels and robes for the shepherds and wise men.”

  “So while you sew, what will your children’s father do?”

  She frowned, trying to imagine it. “I don’t know. What did your dad do? What would you do?”

  “I’d take the kids skating since their mom doesn’t know how. I’d teach them how to throw a snowball—a critical skill every boy and girl needs. I’d get them sledding, since Mom again, is afraid of speed and losing control.”

  He was referring to her as the mom in this case and it sent a little shiver through her, a shiver that was part pleasure and part pain. “And what about husbands? What do they do?”

  “Well, your husband would lug in the Christmas tree and get it stable in the stand. He’d chop firewood and carry it in. He’d get the ornament boxes down from the attic and then put on some Christmas music—maybe some Bing Crosby, Brad Paisley, or Michael Buble—and then he’d want to dance with you to one of the slow, tender songs—”

  “He would not.”

  “He would, too, if it was me married to you.”

  Her heart did a quick mad double beat. “What else would he do?” she whispered.

  “He’d make his famous eggnog—”

  “Does he have a famous eggnog recipe?”

  “Absolutely. The secret Douglas recipe. And then at night, he’d hold his sweetheart, thanking God and feeling mighty blessed.”

  It sounded wonderful, she thought, maybe too wonderful, because real life wasn’t like that. She didn’t trust the picture he painted, it sounded too much like one of those Norman Rockwell paintings that used to grace Life magazine. Sadie only knew about them because her mother would bring home dusty issues of the magazine from one of the houses she cleaned. The magazines were so old, and some of them smelled musty with age, but her mother kept them and would read them.

  Sadie turned her face away from Rory and looked out at the street. She suddenly felt claustrophobic, and she tugged on her scarf now, trying to loosen the woven fabric.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She shrugged dismissively. “It just sounds a bit too much like a fairy tale.”

  “Which part?”

  “I don’t know... all of it?”

  “Are you saying you don’t believe in love?”

  “I’m saying that love isn’t all rainbows and moonbeams.”

  “And it’s not unicorns and pots of gold, either,” he answered. “But love is real, and marriage isn’t always easy, but my parents were really happy together. My mom and dad were best friends. Even after five kids, they were best friends.”

  She didn’t speak and Rory filled the silence. “Even when I was frustrated with my father, I still knew I was lucky to have him, not because he was this great provider—truthfully, we hurt for money and he was a lousy rancher—but he loved us, and he loved our mom. He didn’t just tolerate her, or respect her, he absolutely adored her and there was nothing more important to him than being kind to her, and making sure we kids understood what an amazing woman we had as our mother.”

  Rory tilted her chin up and he looked down into her eyes. “Maybe that is why I believe the best scenario of all is a family with two parents, as there is no greater gift than two adults who love and respect each other, raising their children together.”

  “You’re saying I couldn’t be a good single mother?”

  “I’m not saying that. I think you’d be amazing at whatever you set your mind to. But why go that route if you don’t have to? Why choose that path when you could have a partner? Don’t you want someone to love you? Because you deserve it. You deserve a man who will love you, and cherish you, a man who’ll make you laugh and hug you when you’re sad. You deserve a man who will be your best friend.”

  “Fairy tales again,” she said quietly.

  “Believe me, it’s not. And it’s not unrealistic to want it, or think it could happen.”

  She held her breath, the icy air making her eyes water and her cheeks sting. Silence stretched, the quiet only broken by the passing of a car, tires crunching the salted road.

  “I’m afraid,” she whispered, “afraid to want too much because then I’d risk disappointment.”

  “Is that why you only wanted me when I was on the circuit... far away... just a fantasy?”

  She exhaled hard. “I want you now. You’re just, you know, a lot more overwhelming in the flesh.”

  “And you haven’t even seen all the flesh.”

  Sadie laughed and then punched him in the arm. “That one was you, all you. It’s not my mind that’s dirty, it’s yours, Rory Douglas.”

  He laughed a low, husky laugh, and wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. “So you do want me.”

  He felt solid and warm, and he smelled so good, too, fresh and clean with a hint of spice. �
��Of course I do!” She let herself sink in to his embrace, feeling unbearably secure. “But I am scared,” she admitted after a moment.

  She couldn’t look at him as she talked, and she toyed with the snaps on his sheepskin jacket. “I’ve never cared for anyone this much, and the more I feel, the more afraid I am that it won’t last, and then what would I do? How would I survive? I don’t want to be that lady crying every night in her room.” She was horrified by her confession but also relieved to have said it.

  She’d spent her life trying to be optimistic and hopeful but underneath she was afraid, aware that life was dangerous and unpredictable, and that love was often too fragile for the rigors of the world.

  Her mom was one of the kindest, hardest working women Sadie knew. She never complained, and she never acted as if she couldn’t cope with the pressures of life, and yet late at night when she thought Sadie was sleeping, she’d break down crying.

  Sadie would sit next to her bedroom door, listening to her mom weeping in the next room. Her mom didn’t cry every night, but she cried often enough that Sadie would try to take on more around the house, wanting to help, wanting to make things easier for her mom, but no matter how much Sadie pitched in, it was never enough.

  Sadie struggled with her secret burden as she grew up. How was it possible that her mom, who was so hardworking and kind, could be the saddest person Sadie had ever met?

  “You won’t be that lady crying in her room every night because you’re more resilient than that, Sadie.” Rory’s voice was hard, and no-nonsense. “If your heart gets broken, then you’ll pick yourself up after a bit and carry on. Hearts do heal—”

  “Not everyone’s.”

  He fell silent.

  “Not everyone survives a broken heart,” she added lowly. “I’m not trying to be dramatic, either. It’s just... I know firsthand.”

  “You mean your mom never got over your dad’s death.”

  She nodded once, jaw tight.

  “You aren’t your mom, Sadie.”

  “She never complained but she was deeply unhappy.”