Leave It to Chance (11 page)

“What I’d really like to do is plant poison oak and a little hemlock in Cranwell’s backyard.”

Sid shook his head from side to side. “I told you from the start that Alex Cranwell would be a headache. I could tell the way he climbed out of his pickup his ego was bigger ’n he was.”

“And I should have listened.”

“If he hadn’t filled yer head with that nonsense about breaking you into commercial landscaping, maybe ya would’ve. And been better off for it.”

Ross gave him a tired smile. “It’ll happen. Alex will keep his word. He just doesn’t know when to back off and let me do my job.”

“How much longer do you have at his place?”

Ross tilted his head as he considered. “If he doesn’t change the plans, and it’s a sure bet he will, we should have the majority of the landscaping done by February.” He sighed. “It’ll be worth it when it’s all done. Alex has some big contracts coming up.”

“I don’t know why you want to start something new when what you’re doin’ is workin’.”

Ross stared at the shavings that curled from Sid’s knife. “Alex Cranwell is the best shot I have to break into commercial landscaping. It’s not an easy business, Sid. If I prove myself to him, he could save me years of work getting established in the industry.”

The knife stilled a moment. “Are you sure you’re trying to prove yourself to him and not somebody else?”

Ross ignored the way Sid’s words rubbed at old wounds. “Residential landscaping more than pays the bills. I just want to do something different. Take on a new challenge.”

Sid gave him a shrewd look. “Has yer dad been out to see what you’ve done to the place yet?”

Ross studied the carpet that was new thirty years ago. A person wouldn’t know the kind of money Sid made until he walked into his state-of-the-art barn. Ross shrugged. “Mom says he’s been expanding, took on a new partner. I’m sure he’ll make it out soon.”

“You’ve been done, what? Two, three months?”

“About that. Maybe it’s hard for him to see the place so different.”

Sid leaned forward. “It’s yer mom that put her heart and soul into that farm, and she loves what you’ve done.”

Ross shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m too busy with Alex’s place to give a tour anyway.”

Sid rolled the strand of fescue around, then finally spoke. “How sure are you, son, that Alex’ll send some of those jobs yer way?”

Ross tried to be optimistic, but he felt his dinner grow heavy in his stomach. “From what I hear, his word is gold.” But late at night, he worried about the same thing.

Sid’s eyes held a knowing twinkle that signaled a subject change. “Now, tell me more about this Sierra woman.”

Ross shifted in his seat. “Single mom. Three kids. Deadbeat dad. Had to move in with her mom.” He shrugged. “Not much to tell.”

“Hard on the eyes, is she?” The twinkle was still there.

Ross chuckled. “Far from it, but I think she’s a little young for you.”

“So what’s worryin’ you, son?”

Ross rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s the distraction of having that horse around. He keeps getting out, and Sierra’s scared to death of him. I want to help her, but I have the biggest job of my life in front of me, and I don’t have time to babysit all of them.”

“Doesn’t sound like the horse is the only distraction.”

Ross ignored the comment and focused on the shavings that curled from Sid’s knife. “I came home tonight for a quick dinner before heading back to Alex’s but ended up mucking their horse’s stall.”

Sid shifted his brow a fraction but kept stroking his knife against the wood.

“I’m on a limited time frame,” Ross went on, feeling as if he were defending himself. “I need to get this done before we get a hard freeze.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Somehow Ross didn’t feel as if Sid was siding with him. “Where’s her husband?”

Ross’s eyes shifted to the floor. “Her mom said she’s divorced.”

“The apostle Paul says to take care of widows and orphans.”

“She’s not a widow and they’re not orphans. They have a dad.”

Sid’s eyes rose with a penetrating look. “I don’t think the Good Lord’d agree with you, Ross.”

Ross propped his forearms on his knees. “They are
not
a part of my life. They use a corner of my barn and keep the weeds down in the pasture. I don’t have the time to take care of their horse.”

“Did the Lord tell you to take this Alex Cranwell job?”

He couldn’t meet Sid’s gaze. “God dropped it right in my lap.” Yet Ross
hadn’t
prayed about the decision.

Sid stopped whittling. He leaned in, his breath stirring the fine shavings on the dinner tray. “Looks like He dropped a needy family in your lap too. Better ask Him what He wants you to do afore He drops a three-legged donkey on your front porch.” He tilted back in his chair. “Now that would cause you some problems.”

Chapter 11

Braden looked over. “Mom, are you going to feed Chance while we’re at Dad’s this weekend?”

The butter knife stilled in the apricot jam. Feed Chance. By herself? She carefully spread the jam over the peanut butter. “Mmmhmm.” Maybe Elise could help her. Though picturing Elise in her designer clothes cutting open a hay bale just didn’t fit.

The table was silent, and she glanced over. Braden had guilt all over his face.

She looked at Emory, who shrugged. Sierra cut the sandwiches in half. “Why?”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “I think I left the pitchfork leaning in the corner of his stall.”

She dropped the butter knife. “Tell me you didn’t.”

He nodded his head with a wince. “I’m afraid Ross won’t see it. Sorry.”

She attempted a funny grin. “Not as sorry as you’re going to be, mister!”

Chance, nose-down in the feed trough, munched the container of grain Sierra dumped in to distract him. She perched on a hay bale and stared down at the pitchfork lying tines up in the middle of the stall floor. Nope. Ross hadn’t seen it. She stepped off the bale and clutched the grain bucket and metal spoon from the tack room. It was the only protection she could find.

The sound of the horse’s crunching slowed the closer she got to the stall door.

Silence.

Then the sound of thick lips chasing stray granules around the stainless steel basin. Finally, heavy breathing and soft snorts as Chance made sure the container was thoroughly empty.

And still Sierra stood in front of the wide wooden door with its small barred window and black steel latch.
I cannot do this. I cannot go in there with that … massive animal.
Cold sweat dampened her forehead and prickled under her arms.
But is it fair to endanger Chance? The pitchfork could cripple him if he stepped on it and freaked out. Then they’d have to put him to sleep, and it’d be her fault. The kids would hate her. Come on, Sierra. Buck up!

Sierra lifted the latch. Chance swung his head around, ears forward. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Flattened ears signaled danger, didn’t they?

Sierra took a step forward, then stopped motionless. Uh-oh, one ear forward, one back. Okay, two forward. One more step, then another halt. It felt like a sick game of Simon Says. An eternity later she reached the grain bin. Chance’s head was lowered somewhat, the perfect height to grip the halter and move his hind end away from the pitchfork. Sierra reached for the black halter. Up went the head. She dropped her arm slightly. Chance faced the wall, one baleful eye staring at her, left ear flat.

How do I get out of here?

Sierra started to back out, but Chance matched her turn, angling his rump toward her. Paralyzed, she glanced about the stall, looking for some kind of help. Her gaze slid over the powerful hooves mere feet from her body. A picture of Molly flashed into her mind, lying in the hospital bed, deathly still, monitors beeping as her life drained slowly away. Sierra’s breath came in short gasps. Sweat welled up through her pores and flashes of heat zipped through her body. Sierra inched toward the rear of the stall. The stall door was closer, but she’d have to move farther in line with the deadly hammers attached to the ends of Chance’s hind legs.

Chance tossed his head, and Sierra screamed and sank into soiled straw, covering her head with her arms, waiting for the thrashing of hooves. But all she heard was a swish of hay. Her nerves sensed a void left by the retreat of the large warm horse body. She inched her arms down and sneaked a look over the top of them. Chance was gone.

The only sound was the ring of hooves on concrete as he trotted toward the end of the barn and out toward the corral. That and the throat clearing that came from just outside the stall. “You all right, miss?”

Sierra raised her head. A white-haired gentleman stared at her in concern.

What could she say?
I thought I was being attacked by a horse that no one seems to think is dangerous?

Then she saw the smile he was trying to hold back.

She gave a self-conscious grin. “Did you see that wild beast go tearing out of here?”

He slapped his leg and chuckled. “I haven’t seen a sight like that since Starfire tossed ol’ Ross onto the manure pile.”

The man leaned forward and held his hand out. The skin was rough and weathered, like an old dried apple. It reminded her of a grandpa’s hand. A bit of comforting cushion behind the calluses.

He was on the short side, not much taller than Sierra, but he held himself with a presence that filled the space around him. His voice boomed, resonating through the barn. “You must be the boarder Ross told me about.”

“Oh?” She’d like to have been a mouse in the corner during that conversation.

He chuckled, nodding his head at her expression. “It wasn’t as bad as you think.”

Sierra gave him a slight grin and raised an eyebrow. “And what do I think?”

He brought his arms together, one hand gripping the other wrist. He tipped back on his heels, like he was settling in for a good conversation. The playful twinkle was her clue. “You think that Ross wants to make glue of that old horse out there.”

Glue?
That raised both eyebrows. Glue was made from horses? The implication lifted her hands to her hips, both of them fisted. He wanted her horse dead? She understood the loss of the plant, but to kill an animal over it—

“And sooner rather than later.” He was still nodding, the twinkle deepening. “But you’d be wrong.”

“I would?”
Glue wasn’t made from horses?

“Yes. Ya see, ol’ Ross, he gets a little impatient at times. Downright testy at others.” He shook his head sadly, as if poor old Ross needed sympathy. “In particular when things get a little out of hand.”

“Like his mother’s prized bush getting eaten?”

He nodded approval at her understanding. “Ex—actly.” He drew the word out. “He needs a little time to adjust to having people underfoot.”

“And horses.”

He winked at her, the dip of his chin indicating Chance through the big doors in the corral. “They’re more people than you know.”

He changed posture, leaning an elbow against the stall. “Now when I got here, it looked like that horse was givin’ you a lesson.”

Sierra felt her forehead crease. “No, I …” She stopped. She wasn’t about to tell him she’d been scared to death.

He looked at her, his eyes reading right through to the words she wasn’t saying. “You were scared.” Only it came out “skeered.”

She waited, not admitting anything.

“Now, there’s nothing wrong with being scared. You just cain’t let the horse know it.” He nodded toward a black rope hanging from a nail on the wall. “Now get that lead rope.”

“Why?” Her throat tightened, making it hard to swallow. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“
You’re
goin’ to teach that horse a lesson.”

She laughed. A twittering, reedy sound. Totally unlike her. She’d never had a high-pitched girlie laugh in her life.

“Um … Mr. uh—”

“You can call me Sid.”

“Sid. Okay, Sid.” She firmed her stance. “I’m not going out there.” She punctuated the words with two short jabs toward the corral.

“Well, now. That does put you in a pur-dicament.” He stretched the word out while rubbing his variegated white and gray stubble.

Sierra lifted her chin. “The only predicament I have is how I’m going to get rid of that horse.”

“What’s his name? Lucky?” He raised wildly long eyebrows for clarification. The strands looked like free-range caterpillars that had crawled over each other in a crazed mishmash.

“Chance.”

He pursed his lips, then sucked them in as if he was about to deliver dire news. “You have kids?”

She nodded. “Three.”

He shook his head and drew in a breath. “See, ol’ Chance out there, he’s about wore out.” He leaned his whole back against the stall door. “Not good for much more than the glue factory.

There really is a horse glue factory? The kids definitely needed to wash their hands after crafts.

“But to your kids, I’m sure he’s finer than old Black Beauty himself.” She knew he was right. A sinking sensation started up near her shoulders and traveled down through her chest, compressing itself into a tight ball in her stomach.

“Once a kid sets his heart on a horse, you never can tear the dream out of him. You might not see it, but it’s there. Not many kids get a chance to lasso those dreams and ride them. You sell that horse—” he clicked his teeth “—and you might not get that opportunity back.”

A trembling started in her right leg. He probably couldn’t see it, but it was there, all the nerves screaming, “
Run
!”

She swallowed. But thoughts of her kids kept her from backpedaling to the van. She stared out toward the corral and that … horse. She
would
do this for her kids. Their hearts had been broken enough.

Sierra gave him a look to tell him she wasn’t deceived by his method. “I’m surprised you haven’t been snatched up by some telemarketing service. You’d be selling vacuums by the truckload.”

His raspy laughter reverberated through the old barn.

A few minutes later they stood side by side, fifteen feet from Chance, who chomped through the grassy corral as if they weren’t there. But Sierra knew better. Chance was already plotting his strategy to swing that hind end around. She didn’t need to understand horses to know what was coming next. A swift kick to the forehead.

A tingle started in her hands. She shouldn’t be out here. If she ended up permanently comatose, the kids would end up living with Michael and Gina full time.

Sid pointed to the horse as if Sierra couldn’t see him. “Now, you gotta show him who’s boss.”

Sierra threw him a look. “He already knows.”

He chuckled. “Well, that’s what we’re gonna change.
You
need to decide who’s boss. You or that grass eater. Think of him as a large lawnmower. You don’t mince words with a machine and ask it if it wants to mow the lawn. It doesn’t. It wants to be left alone in the garage.”

What was it with men and machines? This was not going to work.

He continued, “You gotta grab it by the handle and point it where you want to go.” He waved his hand toward the horse. “It’s the same with ol’ Chance there. You gotta show him you mean business.”

Sierra looked from the large head to the tail. “And by grabbing him you mean what?”

“Take him by the rope and lead him like you mean it.”

“He won’t let me put the rope on him.”

The old man put both hands up the same way she’d seen Braden’s baseball coach do with the boys when he was short on patience and long on exasperation. “You don’t
ask
him if he wants the lead rope on. You tell him you’re doing it.”

A conversation with a horse?

He grabbed the rope from her limp hand. “Watch.” A slight hobble emphasized his short choppy steps. If Sierra hadn’t been so nervous she might have smiled.

And there he was, leading Chance back to her, grinning like all she needed was his helpful demonstration. Sierra realized she was walking backward and made herself stop, her toes digging into the soles of her shoes. Sid and Chance halted uncomfortably close. So close that when Chance turned his head and blew out a breath, Sierra got the warm moist air right in her face. It was like being pasted with wet grass.

He held out the lead rope. “Take him for a walk around the pasture.”

Words failed her.

Sid, apparently not respectful of personal boundaries, grabbed Sierra’s hand and wrapped her fingers around the tethered lead rope. “Walk him.” He motioned with his hand toward the far fence in the opposite direction Chance was facing.

It was a standoff. Sierra stared at Chance. Big nose high, Chance stared right back.

“He won’t bite.”

Chance’s bottom lip quivered. Sierra took a half-step in reverse. “I think he disagrees.”

Sid laughed. “Now, lead the dad-blamed horse to the fence.”

Sierra went. More to get away from the big teeth right behind those lips. Chance followed. It was beautiful. She was actually leading the horse. They reached the fence, turned, and Chance followed obediently at her heels. Then Chance’s chin bumped her shoulder. Sierra glanced back, right at the hairy lip that hid those great big chompers. Much too close.

Nervous, Sierra picked up the tempo, preferring a taut three feet of rope between them. Chance lengthened his step and the rope slackened. She stumbled over a tight clump of grass and her knees hit the dirt. Momentum kept her stumbling and scraping forward, until she regained her footing in a fast walk, still holding the lead rope. Sierra threw another look over her shoulder. Chance trotted now, his mane frisking against his neck. Sierra bolted. Sid was waving his arms at her. She had to reach him. Chance was an out-of-control locomotive bearing down on her.

Sierra reached Sid, threw the rope at him and slid in behind his back, crouching to her knees as she quivered. Chance thundered to a stop, snorting puffs of smoke.

“Are you okay?” The shout made her turn, and she slowly rose. Ross cleared the fence and ran through the tall grass toward them. He was actually sprinting. Like he was scared. For her? It had been ages since anyone had been afraid for her. She took a step back and bumped into Sid.