Read Leave It to Chance Online

Authors: Sherri Sand

Leave It to Chance (6 page)

“Can I give him one?” Braden gave him an eager smile.

“In a minute. We need to go over horse safety first.”

Trevor looked at him, his young face earnest. “What’s a nursing home?”

Braden answered. “It’s where old people go.”

A grin nudged Ross’s lips.
Back to horse safety.
“Horses need—”

His cell phone rang. He checked the number and gritted his teeth, then flipped it open. “Prestige Landscape Design, Ross speaking.”

The commanding voice of Alex Cranwell, who owned one of the largest commercial landscaping businesses in the state, boomed in his ear. “Where are you, Morgan?”

The familiar irritation rose. He hated it when the man called him by his last name. “What’s going on, Alex?”

“There’s a problem with the water feature design. Marie doesn’t like it. This job may not be a big deal to you, but being that it’s my house and not one of your regular little residential jobs, I need you over here pronto.”

Ross looked up at the dark clouds swirling overhead. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“I expect you to be on-site, Morgan, when your guys build the waterfall next week.” A long sigh. “Let me make it plain. You’ve got the makings of a first-rate commercial landscaper, but if I can’t count on you for a simple job like this, then I’m not sure you’re ready for the commercial side of things.”

“I hear you, Alex.” Every call from the man ended the same way—always dangling the carrot and threatening to jerk it away. He clicked the phone off, wishing he hadn’t been home the day Alex Cranwell drove up with all his promises of commercial glory.

“I gotta go, guys.” He looked over at Kyle. “Do you have time to talk to them about taking care of Chance?”

Kyle pulled his sleeve up and checked his watch with a frown. “I’d like to, but I need to get back to the shop.”

Ross clapped his hands, trying to sound upbeat. “How about you guys come back after school tomorrow?” A glance at Sierra showed her doubt.

Braden kicked at a rock. “We’re supposed to go to my dad’s.”

“But we probably won’t. He doesn’t like us coming over anymore.” Emory sounded matter-of-fact.

Braden shot back. “He does too. He’s just busy, he told me.” But he saw confusion and doubt on the boy’s face.

“Monday then,” Ross played referee. “I’ll feed him until you guys come back. Maybe your mom can swing by and check on him for you once or twice this weekend.”

Sierra gave an uncertain nod. “Okay.”

He started toward the barn. “Follow me, and I’ll give you a quick tour and show you where we’re storing his hay and grain. Your grandma had some delivered this morning.”

He caught the look Sierra shot her mom.

“And then we’ll feed him some more apple pieces before I have to go.” His cell phone rang again. He checked the number and let it go to voice mail. Alex Cranwell would have to wait a few more minutes.

After Kyle and Ross left, it took Sierra and her mom a frantic few minutes to find the boys. Frantic for Sierra, that was. If Trevor had gotten into the field with that horse and been hurt…. But her mom found them.

Trevor was marched back to the van, her mom’s hand firmly around his wrist. “They were throwing rocks into Ross’s koi pond.”

Sierra sighed. “Boys, get in the car.”

On the drive home, the backseat held the quiet of disappointed children.

Braden asked in a sullen tone, “Why do we have to go home?”

Sierra kept her eyes on the road ahead of them. “Ross and Kyle had to leave.”

“So? We could have stayed. Grandma let us ride him before.”

Sierra leaned her elbow against the top of the passenger door. “Please stop, Braden.”

The words were grumbled, but clearly audible. “I wish we were at Dad’s.”

Emory’s fingers gripped the seat in front of her, her voice anxious. “Mom, what if Dad goes to our old house to pick us up tomorrow?”

“I left a message for him, honey. He knows where Grandma lives.”

The car grew quiet, a ticking bomb of emotions.

Her mom broke the tense silence between them in the front seat. “I was surprised you remembered Kyle Olsen. He’s changed a lot since grade school.”

“I see him every time I get my oil changed.”

“Oh, that’s right. He took over his dad’s auto shop on Franklin.”

Sierra decided to take the peace offering of simple conversation. “In third grade he won a banana split in our Sunday school’s contest to memorize the books of the Bible. But he got sick and threw it up. I thought God was punishing him for beating me.”

Her mom’s crow’s-feet showed. “God wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t care who won.”

Sierra looked out the side window. “I know.”

A few minutes later they turned into her mom’s driveway. The delicious aroma of chicken potpie greeted them when they trooped into the house.

Her mom placed her keys on a hook and her purse on the counter. “Emory, wash your hands and set the table, please. Braden and Trevor, wash up and get ready for dinner.”

Sierra pulled the plates down and set the stack on the table. Emory gathered the silverware. “Milk or water, Em?”

Emory paused halfway to the table, gave a decided nod and said, “Milk.”

Sierra opened the fridge, then shut it again. She stared at the list precisely centered on the freezer door. “What’s this?”

Her mom glanced over. “Oh, I came up with those last night. I thought if we had some guidelines, everyone would know what to expect. Less friction in the coop.” Her mom said it with a smile as she slipped on oven mitts.

Phone calls limited to ten minutes.

Dirty dishes loaded promptly in dishwasher. Dishwasher emptied when clean.

Dirty clothes placed in hamper in bathroom, not on bedroom floor.

No school friends over unless prearranged.

No running in house.

No throwing balls in house.

Bedtime for children: 8:00 weeknights, 8:30 weekends.

Oh, my word. It was like she was ten all over again. Sierra gripped the fridge handle and carefully pulled it open. She would not say anything. It was her mother’s house after all. Just a temporary situation.
Very
temporary.

But she didn’t have a job yet.
Lord, please give me a job.
There she went, throwing up a prayer in a moment of duress. Why did she still do that when she knew He wouldn’t answer? Sierra poured the milk in the glasses and shoved the container back in the fridge.

“Oh, I just thought of another one,” her mother said before going over to the list and writing something else on the sheet. Sierra felt her blood pressure build. She had to get out of there.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Mom.”

“But, honey, dinner’s ready.”

Sierra sped past her toward the hall. “Go ahead and start without me.” She grabbed her cell phone, pressed the familiar numbers, and headed for the backyard.

Her mom called after her. “It’s dark out there, honey.”

Sierra kept walking. “I’m fine.”


Hel
-lo.” Elise’s singsong greeting rushed over her like a spring rainfall.

“She’s driving me crazy.”

“Oh, hon. Unload it all.”

Sierra paced the back fence, the kitchen window broadcasting a square of light onto the middle of the grass. “Where do I begin?” Sierra stopped. “She hijacked Chance.”

“What?”

Sierra nodded and started pacing again. “Yep. She’s paying some Ross guy to board him, and she already had his feed delivered.”

“She didn’t!”

“She did!”

“Married or single?”

Sierra stopped. “What? I’m having a crisis and you want to know if the guy is available?”

“Is he?”

“I don’t know.” She nibbled her fingernail. “He didn’t have a ring on.”

“Hmm … crisis, but you noticed the lack of a ring. Is he good looking?”

“Does it matter so much?”

“Only as icing. Not a requirement.”

Sierra felt a small grin form. “Drop-dead gorgeous.”

“No!”

Sierra switched the phone to her other ear. “Can we get back to my mother, please?”

“Moving along. Are you going to keep the horse?”

“No.
Yes!
I don’t know.”

“Keep him. Trust me on this. You’ll thank me some day.”

“I’m a hypocrite.”

“You’re only just realizing that? What did you do this time?”

Sierra allowed a grin. “It’s not funny. I prayed.”

“Hold on, I feel the earth moving.”

“Elise!”

“Did you mean it?”

“Kinda. But it was pure desperation thrown out to the cosmos.”

“God made the cosmos.”

“I know, I guess.”

Elise knew when to let silence do the talking.

Sierra leaned back against the fence and watched her family through the kitchen window. They were probably tracking her by the light of her phone.

“She has a list.”

“Your mom? Of what?”

Sierra drawled the words. “Rules to live by.”

“You’ve got to name it.”

“What?”

“The list. Like,
Abbey’s List of Torment.

Sierra chuckled. “Yeah or Abbey’s Alcatraz.” She sighed. “She means well.”

“Of course, she does. She loves you.”

Sierra looked up at the zillions of pinpoints in the sky. The Milky Way gleamed like a magical road to a far-off somewhere—it spoke of freedom. She breathed in deeply and exhaled the words. “I’ll call it
The Motivator.

“There you go!”

“You’re a jewel, Elise.”

“Rhinestone?”

“Rare sapphire.”

“Ohh! You keep calling!”

Sierra laughed. A quick glance toward the house had revealed Trevor, his face pressed against the bright kitchen window, little hands cupping his eyes. “I’d better go. The kids are hunting me.”

The next evening, Sierra lifted the still-warm enchilada pan from the midst of the dirty plates waiting to be cleared from the table. She set it on the counter. “Where’s the plastic wrap?”

Her mom pointed to the drawer next to the stove.

She pulled off a square and molded it to the pan, then opened the fridge and stuck the leftovers in. “I’m going to check on the kids.”

Her mom waved her off with a tight smile. “I’ll clean up.”

They still hadn’t talked about her mom’s handling of the horse, and it had reduced their conversation to short, tense exchanges.

Sierra found the kids already waiting on the front steps. She sat down behind Emory, gave her a hug, and kissed the top of her damp strawberry-scented hair. “I love you, Em.”

Her daughter shifted to grin up at her. “Me too.”

Trevor left his backpack in the grass where he’d been collecting vibrant maple leaves and ran back with a handful to show her. “These are for you.”

She pulled him close, careful to not crush his treasures. “Thank you! They’re beautiful!”

Braden kicked a rock off the cement walkway with a scowl. “When’s Dad going to be here?”

“Pretty soon.” She read through his frustration to the fear that his dad wouldn’t show.

Finally, fifteen minutes later, the Lexus pulled into the driveway and parked close to the steps. With a huge grin Michael rolled down the window. “Hi, guys. Did you miss me?”

Emory beamed and ran over to give him a hug through the window. “Yes!”

Trevor ran up behind her. “Hi, Daddy! Grandma let me help make cookies. ”

He looked tanned and relaxed and reached out to rub the top of Trevor’s head. “Hi, punkin.”

Maple leaves crunched under Sierra’s feet as she retrieved Trevor’s backpack from the yard. Sierra had a weird sense that time had warped for a moment. Several years ago this was the scene that used to play nightly in their driveway. Michael pulling up tired, but contented, and smiling while they all piled out of the house to greet him with hugs and kisses. Braden and Emory had been around Trevor’s age.

She handed Michael the backpack. “I see you made it back.”

He avoided her eyes and focused on their daughter. “Yep. Hey, Em, you’re getting too old for that. Leave it here.”

Emory froze, backpack in one hand, favorite blanket in the other. “I sleep with it, Dad.”

“I said you’re getting too old for it. Now go put it in the house.” He looked at Sierra. “I don’t know why you haven’t made her throw it away.”

“Because she needs it, Michael. It gives her security.”

He glanced away, a hint of irritation in the curl of his lip.

“I went by the office and asked Luanne to reissue your last child support check,” Sierra said. “She needed your authorization but couldn’t reach you.”

Frustration darkened his features, and she got a glimpse of how an angry Braden would look as an adult. “I told you I would take care of it.” He lowered his voice with a quick glance in his rearview mirror at the boys in the backseat. “I don’t want to discuss this in front of the kids.”

Emory climbed in and Sierra squatted down next to the car, one hand on the door and spoke in a whisper, “You aren’t returning my calls, Michael. I want to work this out amicably, but if I don’t get paid I’ll have to involve the district attorney. I don’t want to, but you aren’t giving me a choice.”

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