Leave It to Chance

by Sherri Sand

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” her mom’s voice sounded from the living room. Braden slouched further down in his chair.

  Sierra started toward the front door with the kids’ lunches, but stopped when she saw her mom ironing the black pants she’d set out last night.

  “I grabbed these out of your room this morning, honey. Were you going to wear that red shirt? I really think your white blouse would be better.”

  “Oh.” The white blouse hung from the back of the recliner, freshly pressed. “But I always wear the red one to interviews.”

  At 9:50 Sierra walked into her interview wearing her black slacks and the white blouse.

  The woman behind the desk was kind and asked a few brief questions, but after ten short minutes she stood. “Thank you for coming by, Sierra. We’ll be in touch.” The polite smile told Sierra quite succinctly that there would be no job offer coming from her.

  Sierra pressed her hand against the door to exit the building, and stopped, the glass cold under her hand. Why wasn’t she getting anywhere in her job search? With all the résumés she’d spread around, she’d gotten hardly any return calls and only one interview.

  She exited the building and pressed the button to power her phone back on. Two missed calls. One from Elise, the other from an unfamiliar number. She dialed her voice mail and opened the door to her van.

  “Hello, Mrs. Montgomery. This is Celia Ward from the district attorney’s office returning your call. I’ll be out of the office until Monday if you’d like to try me then.”

  Sierra groaned and dropped her head against the steering wheel. She was going to be stuck at her mother’s forever.

  Chapter 10

  Early Sunday morning Sierra rolled over in bed and willed her body to relax back to sleep. She’d stared at the ceiling for hours last night, shuffling through the unpaid bills in her mind. And it didn’t help that her mother had harped last night about Sierra’s child-support situation and what she’d do to Michael if she could lock him in a room with some twine and a pair of pliers. Mom had grown up on a cattle ranch.

  Her door cracked. “Honey, are you coming to church?”

  Sierra groaned. “No, Mom.” But the guilt-o-meter went into full alert, in her mom’s voice, no less. Go to church. Go to church.

  She pulled the covers higher, gray morning light filtering through her window. God didn’t want her there if she couldn’t trust Him, did He? As it was, she and God had drifted to a state of disillusionment. Kind of like meeting someone new and gaining a certain impression of them and then finding out over time you were wrong.

  Like really wrong.

  But this ingrained sense of guilt clung to something deep inside her. All that childhood training that there was a God, and if she so much as glanced at her schoolmate’s math test, He knew. And was it really her place to tell the kids that God wasn’t overly concerned with their lives? Some things they would have to figure out on their own.

  And maybe just a tiny part of her hoped … hoped that He cared.

  Her mom didn’t even try to hide her pleased smile as they scooted up the steps next to her into the foyer of The Gentle Shepherd.

  “Do I have to go to Sunday school?” Braden complained, all but dragging his feet.

  Her mom raised her brows, as if to say, “See? You waited too long.”

  Was it sacrilegious for Sierra to roll her eyes in church?

  Emory grabbed Abbey’s hand and swung it. “Grandma, can we pray that God will let Chance live a long, long time?”

  Trevor hopped next to her. “I want to pray for a Power Ranger.”

  “Oh, honey.” Grandma laughed and gave Emory a squeeze. “Now, kids.” She included Braden in the hushed address, lining them shoulder to shoulder in front of her, like little soldiers. She straightened Trevor’s collar. “God is very busy with a lot of important things to do. We don’t want to bother Him about things like horses or toys.”

  So where did that leave room for the faith that Elise was always talking about? Her friend praised God for answering what Sierra thought were some of the funniest prayers. Like the time she asked God to help her find a lost pearl earring. She said that the next day God led her to the fake Christmas tree in the storage closet, and there was her earring, resting on the lowest branch. Sierra didn’t know what to think about that, but it didn’t stop Elise from sharing.

  What would her mom think about a God who cared about horses and pearl earrings? But if He cared, why didn’t He make Michael listen to his children’s hearts, or bring her a job when she so desperately needed one? Where was the caring God Elise talked about?

  Sierra watched out the kitchen window the next day, as the school bus stopped and the kids poured out and ran up the walkway. Emory dashed into the kitchen for a quick hug.

  “Where’s Grandma?”

  Sierra bent down and said, “Grandma got a call this morning that Great Aunt Marta broke her hip, so Grandma flew out to Florida to help her get better.”

  Emory’s face grew worried and she looked like she might cry. “For how long?”

  She wrapped her arms around her daughter. “A few weeks.”

  “Can we go too?” Braden looked hopeful.

  “No, sweetie, you have school.”

  “Awww. You never let us do anything fun. Dad said he’d take us to Disney World sometime.”

  Like that will happen. Sierra kept the thought to herself.

  The phone rang, and Braden ran to answer it. He walked back from the kitchen, holding it out for her. “It’s Ross.”

  She turned away from the kids to answer it. “Hello?”

  “It’s Ross.” The masculine voice sent a tingle up her spine.

  “Hi.” She felt a slow grin sweep over her lips.

  “Sorry to call, but Chance keeps getting loose, so I’m going to put him in a stall until I find where he’s getting out.”

  “Oh.” The tingly feeling swept away.

  “I can feed him in the morning, if you can get the evening shift.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

  “Two flakes of hay and a cup of grain is all you have to give him until we turn him back into the field.”

  She realized she was nibbling her fingernail again and tucked it under the elbow holding the phone. “All right. Thanks.”

  A heavy silence held the line.

  “I guess that’s it.”

  Was he trying to stay on the line? She pressed her hand to her forehead, bouncing on her toes. Think! Say something intelligent to the man. “Uh huh.” She dropped her hand. Real smooth, Sierra.

  “I’ll see you around.”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye.” His voice held the hint of a smile. And the line clicked.

  She scrunched her eyes shut and wanted to stamp her feet. Didn’t she have anything intelligent to say? Her eyes shot open. What was she doing? She didn’t want to date anyone. She had more pressing problems like finding a job than drooling over some hunky guy who was probably all wrong for her anyway.

  Emory frowned at her. “Are you all right, Mom?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I’m fine, honey.” She put an arm around Em’s shoulder and walked with her toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you start on your homework, and I’ll get dinner going.”

  Emory spread her books across the table, and Sierra pulled a bag of lettuce from the vegetable crisper and started rinsing it in the sink.

  Braden moped in and set Sierra’s cell phone on the counter.

  She shook the dripping leaves over the sink. “Who were you calling, honey?”

  He turned away, his face heavy with dark emotions. “Dad.”

  She dried her hands, followed him to the living room, and put an arm on his shoulders, hoping he’d lean in for a hug. “Did you talk to him?”

  Braden stepped free of her arm. “He wasn’t there.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged and walked upstairs, and her heart grew heavier with each step he took away from h
er. And she knew it was away. They were losing their son, and Michael didn’t even seem to care.

  Back in the kitchen she mixed bread crumbs and egg into the ground beef. How could she reach Braden? How could she be both mother and father to her kids? Her eldest child was at a critical age in his development. He craved a father. And she was powerless to make Michael see that.

  And how healthy was it for the kids to live under their grandma’s continuous hovering? Sierra needed to move them into a place where they had the freedom to leave their markers and the like strewn across the table on occasion.

  She opened the oven door and set the meatloaf inside, then reached for her phone to call Elise. When she flipped open the phone, her message icon popped up. Her heart beat a little faster, taking on a cadence of hope. Please. Please. Please—be a job offer.

  Maybe God did care. The thought caught her by surprise. Maybe—a tingle of awareness lifted each hair across her arms—maybe God was trying to reach her, to show her, like Elise said. She pressed the button for her voice mail.

  A brisk female voice came on. “Hello. This is Cheryl from Webberling Heating Systems.” Anticipation shifted to despair as she heard, “We have filled the position you applied for. We’ll keep your application on file for one year—”

  Sierra pushed the button to delete the message. The prickle in the air evaporated. Hormones and stress could create weird feelings. She felt exposed and silly all at the same time. Was she so desperate that she’d actually thought God was working on her behalf? She wanted to brush a tough protective coating over her throbbing nerve endings. Even her mom didn’t believe that God spoke like that. The strange impression that there had been a job waiting on her voice mail, that it’d been sent from God, was just that: a strange impression. Because she’d forgotten one critical detail, God was much too big to worry about a small thing like her survival.

  After their bellies were full of dinner and slices of leftover peach pie her mom had made after church, Sierra loaded her excited brood in the van.

  “Can we ride him tonight, Mom?” Braden hung over the front seat as she started the car.

  She tried to sound upbeat. “Um, I’m not sure.”

  A few minutes later, wipers whipping, she turned up the familiar driveway and headed toward the barn. Seeing the empty cement apron next to Ross’s house dissipated a tendril of worry that he might be home. She didn’t want to see him until she figured out her weird reactions to him and what to do about his honeysuckle. She drove past the house and parked next to the barn.

  Braden and Emory were out of the van before she shut it off. Trevor unbuckled and hurried to follow.

  “Where’s your coat, honey? It’s raining.”

  He didn’t even pause as he jumped out. “I’m okay.” Her mother would be raising her eyes in that “See what I mean?” manner.

  Sierra zipped her coat and hustled out of the van. It took major willpower to step through the darkened doorway of the barn. She flipped her hood back and walked toward the kids, who were crowded in front of the stall. The barn wasn’t nearly as dark as it looked from outside the door. Yellow light cast a pall over the dusty wooden beams and old stairs that climbed up the loft on her right.

  Chance looked at them from over the stall door. Braden rubbed the gray forehead, while Emory stood on one of the bales stacked against the enclosure and scratched behind a long ear. Trevor watched from a few feet back, hands in his pockets.

  Then Chance swung his heavy head and Braden dodged back. Sierra leaped toward them and pulled Emory down and Braden back a step. Chance swung his head lazily around again.

  Braden pulled his collar free and stepped toward the stall. “Geez, Mom.”

  Emory stared at her with wide eyes.

  “I thought—he looked like he was going to … ” To what? Knock down the stall door? She closed her eyes. Get a grip, Sierra. She took a breath and studied the horse locked securely behind the heavy wooden gate.

  Emory pointed down the aisle. “I think he just heard a noise.”

  Sierra attempted a smile. “You’re probably right.”

  Her daughter took a small step toward Chance. “Is it okay—?”

  Sierra nodded and Em hopped back up onto the bale. She let them pet him a few more minutes before she said, “Okay, guys. We need to feed him.”

  Ross had said two flakes of hay. Hay stuck out from the bale Emory stood on like a bunch of blonde bristles. Sierra grabbed two handfuls and Emory jumped down.

  Braden crouched next to her, with Emory and Trevor on the other side. She grinned at the way the four of them were bent in position like sprinters at a track meet. “Okay. One, two, three … pull!”

  The effort left her hands red with white lines where the straw slid through her grip. The hay was wedged in tight and she dropped the wisps she’d managed to pull free. The kids stood holding tiny bits of straw in their fists.

  Braden studied the bale and then straddled it, attacking one of the twin metal bands and digging his fingers into the straw under it.

  Sierra worked on the other one. The wire binding the bale together was like a taut rubber band around a ponytail. She could barely edge the tips of her fingers under it. No way they could tug it off the bale.

  What now? Straddling the bale, she looked around. Braden ran for the tack room. Emory and Trevor trailed after him, searching until Trevor found a pair of rusty clippers under a workbench. The red dust ground into her palms, but after a few minutes of maniacal squeezing she managed to cut first one wire, then the other.

  When the second wire sprang free, she saw what Ross meant about flakes. The hay folded over into thick files. An opening in the stall divider allowed them to drop the hay and grain Braden got from the tack room, right into the feeding trough. A few minutes later the heavy crunch-crunch of colossal molars grinding the granola-looking mixture filled the barn. Sierra leaned on the gate that separated her from the horse.

  Emory stood on one of the intact bales and wrinkled her nose. “It stinks.”

  Sierra agreed. The stall needed to be cleaned. Chance shifted his weight, resting the tip of one back hoof on the dirt floor. The power in those hindquarters. If she got behind Chance and Chance didn’t like it … how long would it take someone to find her? What would the kids do? She didn’t need Braden entering the stall attempting a rescue.

  She couldn’t help the terror that surged through her every time she walked near the giant gray animal. And she worried that Chance sensed her fear. Didn’t that make animals more aggressive? She’d read that when training a dog, you had to show them who the alpha leader was. Well, Chance was the alpha leader of this pack.

  She stood on a bale with the kids and studied the horse. Braden twisted to see her around Emory, the bale rocking beneath them. “We need to clean his stall, Mom.”

  Sierra chewed her lip. There was no way she was going in that stall, but she couldn’t ask Ross to do the job for her either.

  The sound of a vehicle crunching up the gravel drive entered the barn. Braden bolted for the door and looked out. “It’s Ross.” Her son disappeared. Sierra sighed. So much for avoiding the man.

  Ross rolled to a stop under the carport alongside the house. With a big grin Braden opened the door of the truck.

  “Hey, Braden,” Ross said. “You guys feeding Chance?”

  “Yeah. We might ride him today.”

  “That so?” The eagerness of the boy tugged at him, stirring feelings long dormant. That hunger to be noticed and to matter to a father figure reached so deep. “Well, I’m planning to work on the fence tomorrow night. Do you want to help me?”

  “Yeah! Could we do it tonight?”

  “No, I’ve still got some work to do. I just ran home to fill my growling stomach.”

  Braden laughed. “Yeah. We need to clean Chance’s stall, but Mom’s starting to look squirrelly again.”

  “Squirrelly, huh?”

  “Yeah, like how a squirrel runs around when it’s nervous.” />
  “Gotcha.” He chuckled, imagining Sierra running around the barn.

  “My mom’s scared of horses. Do you want to come see him?”

  If he went to the barn, it wouldn’t be to see just Chance. The image of the woman with hair dark like Braden’s came to mind. He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “I’d like to, but I need to eat dinner and get back to work.”

  Braden’s eyes dropped to the gravel. “Okay.” He gave him a half-hearted smile and started back for the barn.

  He watched Braden disappear through the doorway. The disappointment in the boy’s smile wasn’t the only thing that stopped Ross from heading into the house, it was the sadness behind it. He glanced up the road toward Alex Cranwell’s house with a sigh, shut the pickup door, and started for the barn.

  The four of them were lined on the bales of hay next to Chance’s stall. “Hey.”

  The whole family turned, and Braden’s face lit up. The boy jumped down and ran over. Sierra’s gaze lingered for a long moment, but other than that Mona Lisa smile, she didn’t say anything.

  He tilted his chin toward the flakes of hay. “I see you managed to break the bale open.”

  She nodded and clenched her palms together. A hint of rust from her efforts with the baling wire stained her fingers.

  “I gave him grain, too.” Braden hooked a thumb through his belt loop.

  Ross shifted his weight and adjusted the thumb already resting in his own belt loop. “I bet he liked that.”

  “He does. He’s still eating it.” Emory tossed a grin over her shoulder.

  “He eats loud.” This from the smallest guy.

  Ross glanced at his watch again and took a step toward the door. “Well, I—”

  “His bed stinks.” The little boy balanced next to his mom on the bale and pinched his nose.

  Sierra was biting her lip, but when he caught her eye a smile peeked through. She tousled the boy’s hair.

  Braden shifted his stance, matching Ross’s cocked hip. “Could you help us?”

  Consternation washed the smile from Sierra’s face. “Braden.” She shook her head at the boy.