Leave It to Chance (24 page)

He walked past Sierra and took her arm, pulling her outside.

She sighed. “Thanks for supporting me with Braden—”

Gone was his smile. His eyes pierced right to her core. “You’re making a mistake. A big one.”

Her throat tightened.

His voice grew firm. “You can’t just—”

She held up a hand. “Yes, I can. You were supposed to keep him safe. You and God. You promised me it wasn’t dangerous.”

He jammed his hands to his waist. “All life holds risks, Sierra. You either minimize them the best you can or you stop living.”

She crossed her arms again. “I think selling Chance is minimizing things greatly.”

His voice rose. “But at what cost?” He leaned closer. “You say you’re doing this to protect your son, but I see a woman who has been completely blinded by fear and is destroying her son because of it.”

She felt as if he’d slapped her.

He turned and headed down the steps to his pickup.

Sierra wanted to slam the front door against his words. How could he possibly understand? He didn’t know the gut-wrenching terror of a parent whose child has been gravely injured. She bit her lip and watched him drive away.

But what if he was right?

The first call came early the next morning when Braden and Emory were at school and Trevor was curled next to Sid on the couch watching
Barney and Friends
. She answered her cell as she flipped Sid’s over-medium eggs onto a plate.

“Hello?”

“Sierra? This is Greg Adams. My daughter and I looked at a horse of yours about a month ago. Is it still Chance that’s for sale?”

Sierra set the spatula next to the plate and leaned forward against the counter. “Yes, but I need to tell you that my son was injured a couple of days ago riding him.”

“What happened?” Alarm entered the man’s voice.

“The horse slipped rounding a barrel in a game they were practicing, and my son fell off and was unconscious for several hours.”

His voice settled. “Oh, I thought you meant the horse kicked him or something.”

How could the man still want a horse knowing the danger?

“We’ll take him. I have a friend with a horse trailer who said he’s free to pick him up about three this afternoon.” A smile entered his voice. “My daughter finally convinced her mom she’s ready for a horse.”

“Oh, well, that’s wonderful.” Sierra’s hands started to sweat, Ross’s question,
But at what cost?
slipping into her mind.
Could this hurt stay with Braden longer than any physical injury would? What would it do to their relationship?

Sierra swallowed the sigh. “We’ve moved him, so let me give you directions.”

She set the phone down and stared at the counter. Would Braden be able to forgive her?

Chapter 23

Sierra slid the plate of eggs in front of Sid. She cracked two more into the hot pan and scrambled them with the spatula.

“Can I do it?” Trevor scooted the kitchen chair over until it banged into the stove. Sid hobbled into the kitchen on the crutches the daily in-home physical therapist had taught him to use. A walker would be next, and then he’d be back on his own. Sierra didn’t even want to think about how much she’d miss him.

“Okay, but I’ll hold the pan.”

Her son looked up, apparently catching something in her tone. The toast popped and she set two pieces on a plate to the right of Sid, next to the butter and jam. “More juice?”

“I’m capable of pouring my own juice,” Sid said as he leaned his crutches against the table.

“Never thought you weren’t, Mr. Ornery.”

Sid grinned and wiped his whiskers with his handkerchief. She couldn’t get him to use a napkin. Said paper didn’t clean his face nearly as well.

“So you and Ross on speaking terms again?” Sid’s bright eyes danced with some secret knowledge.

She avoided direct eye contact by pouring herself a mug of coffee. “Did you and Leorna have a good visit this morning?” He’d been on the phone when she and Trevor walked through the front door.

“Ross is a fine catch. He’s a little slow on the uptake at times, but some things can be overlooked.” He dragged his toast across the plate, sopping up the last bit of yolk.

“Did that realtor ever call you back?”

“I’ve no doubt Ross’d make a good husband, just needs a little fine-tuning.”

“Too bad we couldn’t stuff you in a box and send you out to Leorna for a nice, long visit.” She gave him a sweet smile.

His toast paused midscrape. “You want me to drop the topic?”

“Please. It’s not open for discussion.”

“Too soon? Need to let your feelings mature a little more?”

“No.” She gave him a look. “None of your business.”

His deep laugh crinkled the lines around his eyes, making him look like Santa Claus with a little yolk on his chin. He bobbed his head knowingly. “Some day you’ll thank me for nudging you in Ross’s direction.”

She gave him a look. “Could be dangerous if someone tripped and knocked one of your crutches out from under you.”

He laughed and raised his hands. “All right. All right.”

She lifted the mug and took a sip. “Back to Leorna. Are you moving, Sid?”

He sighed and set his fork on his plate with deliberation. “Yes, I believe I am. I’m getting too old to train the ponies.” His eyes clung to hers as if begging for confirmation.

She smiled her understanding.

He nodded once, as if laying that final piece to rest. “I want to go home. Be near my family again.” His smile grew nostalgic. “It’s funny, you know. When my wife and daughter died, I couldn’t stand being there. Too much pain, too much death for me to handle all at once. But as I get ready to meet the Lord, I yearn for the comfort of being close to them.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Being young, you might not understand that. Now, don’t go telling Ross.” His fingers had stilled and his look grew gruff.

“There’s no chance of that,” Sierra said. “But you need to talk to him, Sid. And soon.”

Trevor slid off his chair and ambled through the doorway toward the living room. A soft click and the muted sounds of
Sesame Street
came into the room.

“That reminds me.” Sid licked his lips as if he had succulent news to impart, and his eyes held that leprechaun sparkle, like when he was about to pull a good one over on Ross. “Stella called this morning, said her niece went out to the old homestead on Monday, but couldn’t find the honeysuckle. They had a bad winter and the plant hadn’t been doing too well the last few years, so they think the cold did it in.”

Sierra sank back against the counter. “So Ross’s heirloom plant can’t be replaced.” And she had no chance to make amends for it, not that she had a real desire to at the moment.

“Now hold yer horses girl, I’m not done. Tracy, Stella’s niece, brought her husband back the next day, and they looked under every weed and bush there was.” Eyes dancing, he waited for her to ask.

His mood was contagious. “And?”

He clapped his hands and leaned forward like he was about to award the jackpot. “They found it, nearly dead under blackberry briars. Tracy clipped off the only living branch on it and mailed it that day. Stella thought it shoulda showed up yesterday, but Tracy packed it good and wet. You’ll just need to stick it in a vase until it roots, then put ’er in the ground come spring.”

She went straight over and gave him a hug. His ears turned pink, but he didn’t complain. “Sid, thank you so much. And thank Stella for me.”

She helped him back into the living room, but a light blanket tucked around his legs brought about his bleating at her to quit fussin’ over him. She adjusted the pillow under his knee and he sighed and sank deeper into the couch. Trevor scooted closer and perched on the few inches of open couch near Sid’s chest. The old man drew an arm around him and anchored him in place.

“Now, you get back to whatever you need to do in the kitchen. Me and Trevor here are gonna watch
Sesame Street
.”

Sierra glanced out the living room window and saw Chance grazing in Ross’s pasture, and her thoughts spun back to Braden. A dark cloud passed over her heart. She didn’t seem capable of making two of the important males in her life happy.

Ross jammed the shovel into the ground and worked it deeper into the hard soil, mad at himself for losing his temper with Sierra. When he’d calmed down, he admitted to himself that it was love for her kids that drove her to sell Chance, even if it was motivated by fear.

But what was really bothering him was why he couldn’t let her go. In spite of everything, she filled his thoughts. She drew his heart in a way no one ever had. It was the look in her eye when her boy was hurting. The determination she’d shown to try to overcome her terror so her kids could keep an old horse, and the way she teased and cajoled an old man who missed a daughter and a wife buried back in Kansas. Everything in him wanted to protect her, love her, to wrap her in his arms when she was weary, to bring the sparkle back into her eyes.

And yet he’d hurt her. But what made him jam the shovel hard into the ground was the knowledge that she couldn’t be his.

At ten to three, Sierra gripped Sid’s front doorknob. She couldn’t look at him, didn’t want him to know the terrible thing she was doing. “I need to run an errand.”

He frowned. “Why’re you all fidgety?”

She stilled the keys. “I, um …”

He pointed to the recliner. “Sit down and let ’er out.”

She sat on the edge of the chair, her keys digging into her palm. “I sold Chance.”

The muscles in his face contracted as shock morphed into a kind of pain, then the wisdom of his age seemed to smooth out the crevasses. “Sierra,” her name came out on a sigh, “you can only run from fear so long.” He waved toward the door. “You better go run your errand.”

She stood near Ross’s barn as a shiny aluminum horse trailer pulled up his drive. A part of her wanted to wave her arms and tell them they had the wrong address, the wrong horse. This one wasn’t for sale.

But she didn’t. Greg Adams and his friend first loaded the tack, as they called Chance’s gear, then led the big gray horse into the trailer. The shiny metal door shut the old horse from her gaze.

Greg Adams handed her the check. Slowly she reached for it, gripped it tight in her hands, and never said a word.

That night her mom met her at the front door, her arms crossed tight over her chest. “Braden told me you’re selling Chance, honey.” Disapproval pressed her lips into a tight line.

Sierra shut the door and walked past her to the kitchen. She dropped her keys on the counter. “It’s been a rough day, Mom.”

“How can you just sell him like that? The kids
finally
have something they look forward to—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, let me tell you, the joy just whooshed out of this house when you placed that ad.” Her mom drilled her with one good look then turned to the sink.

Her mom’s words pounded the doubts deeper. But then she thought about Braden lying so still and white in the hospital bed. The cupboard door squeaked in her hand, and she set the glass on the counter with a hard thunk. She
was
doing the right thing. She opened the fridge and poured a glass of apple juice and drank it down. What would they be telling her if she was preparing for Braden’s funeral today?
I’m so sorry. He was such a sweet boy. It’s too bad you inherited that horse.

Emory rushed into the kitchen, questions in her eyes. “Mom, are you really selling Chance?”

Sierra knelt down and reached for Emory’s hand. “Yes, honey. I don’t want to, but he’s too dangerous. Braden could have died.”

Emory pulled her hand free. “But he didn’t. And Ross got him a helmet.”

Sierra stood. “I know, sweetie, but it’s still not safe.”

Big tears formed in her daughter’s eyes, and she jerked away when Sierra touched her shoulder, then ran from the kitchen.

Her mom leaned back against the sink with a sigh.

“Don’t say anything, Mom.”

Abbey shook her head. “I warned you. Braden’s worse. He wouldn’t come down for dinner.” The beep of the microwave interrupted her, and Abbey opened the black door and brought out a plate covered with a paper towel. “I was just warming his food up. Put his fork on the table and I’ll go call him.”

Braden wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later. Apparently a growling stomach was able to move him from his exile.

“How was school, honey?”

He wouldn’t look at her. “Did anyone buy Chance?”

She looked to her mom, but her mother turned away.
God, please!
she prayed, but then she remembered she wasn’t talking to Him.
He
was the reason she was in this mess. If He’d kept Braden from getting hurt, she wouldn’t have had to sell that horse.

She crossed her arms, but her voice was gentle, “Yes, someone did.”

He looked at her, his mouth open, fork in midair. Then a darkness crumpled his features and he dropped the fork onto his plate and stood up.

“You need to eat, sweetie.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then we’ll put it back in the fridge.”

He got up, carried his plate to the sink and dumped it, using his fork to poke it down the disposal.

“Braden, that’s not okay!”

“I don’t care! I hate you!” Braden stomped up the stairs and bounced his door against its frame.

Abbey went over and switched the water on, ran the disposal, then walked out of the kitchen.

Sierra stood in the vacuum they left behind.

Braden’s attitude got worse over the weekend. By Monday morning guilt rode in the car with her all the way to Sid’s. And that evening her mom left to visit Alma Thayer in the nursing home, but most likely she’d left to escape the bedlam in her house.

Braden was in his room
not
doing his homework. A casual after-dinner inquiry about school assignments for him and Emory had triggered a Mt. St. Helens’–sized eruption from her son. More ugly words. Fortunately the majority of the blast had been contained to his room after he slammed his door. Rumblings continued to filter through the thin floor, the most frequent one being the shouted, “I hate you, Mom.”