Leave It to Chance (14 page)

“Tomorrow I’ll call Stella,” Sid said, “and see if she has any relatives that’d be happy to go honeysuckle hunting for you.” Sierra smiled at him.

He clapped his hands. “Now let’s have some of that lemon mang pie!”

Friday night, after a near silent dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup with crackers, Sierra cleared the table and piled the dishes in the sink. Her mom would be horrified, with the empty dishwasher a mere foot away. But Sierra wanted to hurry. The children had been moody all day, and she wasn’t about to sit around and do nothing about it.

She hastened into the living room where the kids sat zombielike, watching a movie. “I need you guys to get in the van.” Her keys jangled as she pulled on her coat.

Braden’s eyes didn’t leave the TV. “Where are we going?”

She hesitated. “Dad’s.”

Three pairs of eyes zoomed to focus on her. Excitement entered Braden’s voice. “We’re going to Dad’s?”

Sierra flipped her hair out from under the heavy collar of her jacket. “I need to talk to him.”

Emory’s face grew worried. “We’re not staying the weekend?”

“I don’t know, honey. Please get your coat and shoes.”

Braden hunched down in the couch. “I don’t want to go.”

Sierra squatted in front of him, placing a hand on his knee. “I don’t blame you, bud. It hurts when people don’t keep their word.”

His scowl didn’t lighten, but he got his shoes on and stalked out to the van.

When Sierra turned into the upscale neighborhood, a panicky note entered Emory’s voice. “What if he wants us to stay? I don’t have any of my stuff.”

Sierra kept her voice even. “Your overnight bags are in the back of the van.”

She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw Braden look over into the cargo space. When she pulled up and parked behind the black Lexus in Michael’s driveway, he dragged his overnight bag into his lap.

The Tudor-style home had a fancy white wooden “For Sale” sign in the grass next to the sidewalk.

“You guys wait here.” Sierra hurried up the flagstone walkway.

Michael opened the door before she knocked. “What are you doing here, Sierra?”

“You broke their hearts Tuesday night, Michael. They don’t understand when you make promises and then don’t show.” She glanced toward the van. “Have you thought about how they felt, waiting on the porch, jumping every time a car went by?”

The lines in his cheeks were taut and his eyes had the bloodshot look of someone surviving on little sleep. He leaned his head back and exhaled. “Things are complicated right now. My practice isn’t doing well….”

Conflicted emotions stormed through her. Part of her grieved that his business was tumbling apart. She’d been a part of the dream to open the practice so many years before. But those feelings were only a tiny sliver of emotion compared to the anger and sadness she felt at the pain he was causing their kids.

“I know things are complicated, Michael, but the kids miss you.” She studied him, trying to find that connection between them that was their kids. If she reached for it, maybe he’d listen, soften. Go back to being the dad the kids adored.

He slanted a hard gaze at her. “I can’t take the kids this weekend.”

She crossed her arms, her voice harsher than she intended. “Why not?”

His mouth parted, but then his gaze shot over her shoulder and his brow drew together. She turned. All three kids were walking tentatively up the sidewalk, overnight bags in their hands.

Once they realized they’d been discovered, the kids ran for the entrance.

“Hi, Daddy.” Trevor dropped his bag and Michael swooped him up, holding him close a moment.

Michael set him down and pulled Emory into a tight side hug, then reached for Braden, who hung back for one long second. Head down, their eldest gave his dad a lukewarm embrace.

Trevor turned toward her. “Hug, Mom.” She bent down and squeezed him. His little arms snaked up around her neck, gripping tight and her heart broke. He leaned back and his thumb-bucked teeth gleamed in a giant smile. Then he ducked past Michael and ran into the house, his bag and stuffed animal forgotten on the porch.

Emory and Braden hesitated, more sensitive to the tension in Michael’s stance.

“Sierra, this isn’t a good time.”

“Kids, run inside. Your dad and I need to talk.” Emory gave her a quick look, blue eyes wide with worry, then darted into the house. Braden stuffed his hands into his pockets as he stared down in front of him.

Her fingers brushed Braden’s shoulder. “Go in the house, sweetheart.” He looked at her, his expression so lost, so hurt. She nodded, wanting nothing more than to shuttle him back to the van and home to safety. “It’ll be okay.” He turned, shoulders drooping, and moved into the house.

Michael spoke over his shoulder. “Just for a few minutes, guys.”

“I know about the bankruptcy,” Sierra said.

He leaned his arm up against the doorjamb, looking irritated. “It doesn’t remove my child support judgment if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Braden needs vision therapy. It’s three thousand dollars.”

“Why don’t we go for the whole works and get him into braces, too.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m under a lot of stress right now. I know I haven’t been there for the kids like I need to be, but it’s just not a good time.”

“He needs this therapy, Michael. The doctor said school will remain incredibly difficult for him without it.” She paused. “The divorce decree states that you pay sixty percent of medical procedures.”

His brow drew down. “I know what the decree says. There’s nothing I can do to help right now. Maybe later … I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Can they stay?”

He straightened and stuffed a hand in his pocket. “Gina just isn’t up for it right now.”

“Why not?”

His eyes steered clear of hers. His voice was lower, but gained strength, as if he refused to feel defensive. “She’s pregnant.”

The sucker punch slipped past her stomach and went straight for the heart as a whirlwind of thoughts pummeled her. She wanted to cry for her children who would remain on the periphery. Removed. Stepchildren. Half-siblings. The thoughts swirled and tore at her emotions.

“She’s not feeling well. And the noise. It makes it hard for her to sleep.”

“
All
of your children need you, Michael.”

A flicker of guilt rippled across his face, and he dragged one hand down his cheeks. A gesture so familiar to her. It was the one he used when he knew what was right but was torn by pressure from other directions.

“Gina just isn’t used to kids.”

“Well, then, this will be good practice.”

Chapter 14

Ross shook the newspaper open to the home-and-garden section as he did every Saturday morning. The article on “winterizing your home” didn’t hold his attention. He laid the paper aside. This used to be his favorite part of the week, but now his thoughts kept drifting to the Cranwell plans on his office desk. Maria Cranwell had changed the water feature yet again.

He took another sip of rich black brew and gazed through the kitchen window out over his pasture. A movement in the adjoining field caught his eye.

“What?” In the enclosure near Sid’s horse barn, an angry black horse danced around a sway-backed gray nag.

Ross growled and headed for the back porch. He jerked his work boots on, then threw an old coat over his shoulders and stomped through the grass to bring Chance back home.

Wet field grass slapped over the top of his boots, soaking his jeans up to the knee. Halfway through Sid’s pasture, Ross stopped. He glanced around trying to get a feel for what was out of place.

Slowly it came to him. Sid had usually let the horses out by now. Yet only Traitor and Chance stood in the pasture. He glanced toward the house. The back porch door stood wide open. Sid surely wouldn’t have left it open on such a cold morning. His pulse accelerated, pounding in his ears.

He broke into a run, his gaze sweeping the pasture as he sprinted for the barn. A bit of red off to his left snagged his attention. The stiff breeze blew it gently, fluttering just beneath the blades of grass. Probably nothing, but his heart hammered anyway, beating against the bones in his chest. He cut toward the red bit of fluff, still scanning the rest of the field. Then he saw the black boot.

“Sid!” The scream tore through him, lost in a chilly gust of wind. He raced, the air current whipping against him. Sid lay chalk white, his skin cold and pinched, as if he had shriveled into himself. Ross slid to his knees next to the older man and leaned his cheek over Sid’s open mouth, but with the gust blowing between them he couldn’t tell if there was breath. He gently laid his head over Sid’s chest and thought he felt a soft
thump-thump
, but wasn’t sure. It might have been his own pulse surging in his ear.

Was it a heart attack? Skinny as he was, Ross knew Sid’s doctor had been after him to eat better or risk having it catch up to him. He grabbed for his cell phone at his waist, but clutched denim instead. He yelled, the wind snatching away the sound. His cell phone lay in the kitchen by his truck keys.

Ross scanned the rest of Sid’s body and saw that dark wetness had colored much of Sid’s overalls. A patch had spread under his left leg, bathing the grass with the old man’s lifeblood. Ross pulled out the utility knife he slipped into his pocket every morning and slit the tough denim to Sid’s thigh. It was bad—the flesh mangled and bruised from iron horseshoes. Bits of bone and muscle clung to the material Ross peeled back. Black-crusted blood told him Sid had been out here a while. He tore off his shirt and tied it around Sid’s leg, trying to be gentle, but needing to dress the wound. When he was satisfied, he laid his coat over his friend, then ran for Sid’s barn phone and called for help.

Sierra flipped the blinker to pull into Ross’s lane but caught the flash of emergency lights ahead. An ambulance pulled onto the highway from Sid’s drive. It sped past with screaming sirens. She gunned the van and headed for Sid’s. Somebody had to still be there.

She circled the empty gravel yard with her van.
Ross must have ridden in the ambulance.
A flash caught her periphery, and she turned to see Ross vault the fence back to his yard. He was bare chested in the freezing weather. Sierra floored the accelerator and sped back down the driveway to Ross’s.

She met him coming out of his house, the T-shirt he’d thrown on inside out, the tag hanging out in front. His eyes were frantic. “Sid’s hurt bad.”

She gripped the steering wheel, terror pouring over her. “Get in the van. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

He opened his mouth, glanced at his truck, then nodded, and rushed to the passenger side of the van.

“What happened?”

“I found him in the pasture with Traitor and Chance.” He stared out the side window, his voice so low she could barely make out the words.

“Did he have a heart attack?”

Ross’s turned to stare straight through the windshield, his profile tight, angry. “He’d been stomped.”

“How did Traitor get in your pasture?”

His eyes flared dark. “Chance was in his.”

In the hospital waiting room, Ross looked away from Sierra, guilt eating at him. She was crying, and he hadn’t offered a word of comfort, not a hug, not even a cup of coffee. He paced to the far side of the room and dropped onto a couch with his forehead in his palms and elbows on his knees. An image of a gray horse in the wrong pasture flashed into his mind. Sid lay on an operating table because someone left a gate open.

A cushion moved beside him, then settled. He glanced over and saw his cousin.

“I got your message.” Kyle swallowed hard. “How’s he doing?”

Ross shook his head and swallowed hard.

“Mr. Morgan?” There was the soft hush of rubber soles on the carpet.

Ross raised his head and walked to meet the doctor halfway across the room.

Dr. Ho, still in scrubs, crossed his arms. “Mr. Barrows will be moved to recovery shortly. His left femur was crushed. We managed to insert a rod and remove most of the fragments.” He shrugged. “It’s a waiting game at this point to see how it heals and if there’s infection.” The doctor’s gaze flashed down to his hands frequently while he talked, as if consulting a clipboard he no longer held. “His age doesn’t improve his chances, nor does the fact that he was exposed to the elements for most of the night.”

Sid had been out there all night?
The shock hit Ross like a bucket of ice water in the face.

“We did our best, but we may still have to take the leg.” Ross met Kyle’s eyes, and he broke out in a cold sweat. Spots darkened his vision for a second.

The doctor’s tone changed and he reached toward Ross, concern in the eyes behind the silver frames. “Sir, do you need to sit down?”

Sid with one leg? He’d die. Just waste away.
Anger thrashed in Ross’s gut.
All because Chance had gotten in with that black horse.

Kyle gripped his arm. “Ross?”

Ross shook off his hand and stepped back on shaky legs. “No. I’m fine.”

The doctor eyed him carefully before continuing, “We may need to perform a second surgery to clean the wound some more. We were able to irrigate and remove most of the debris, but our focus was getting the rod in.” He crossed his arms. “Considering his age, we didn’t want him under the anesthesia longer than necessary. Consequently he’ll be on heavy doses of antibiotics for a couple of weeks.”

Sierra sniffled.

Ross looked at her. Her face was blotchy, and her eyes puffed up. She addressed the doctor. “What are the risks at this point?”

The doctor nodded. “Infection always remains our number one concern. Also how his heart will react to the trauma of the wound, the exposure, and extensive surgery.” The doctor consulted the nonexistent clipboard again. “His heart rate and blood pressure remained fairly stable through the surgery, but it’s a wait-and-see game from here on out.”

Ross turned and his gaze caught Sierra’s. Her eyes were deep pools of sorrow and fear. She bent her head, but not before he caught the flash of guilt.

In that split second, satisfaction flashed through him. He was glad that she felt culpable. And the shame of that thought rode him harder for it.

On the drive back to Sid’s, Ross couldn’t bring himself to break the silence that filled Sierra’s van like black tar. The car coasted to a halt in front of the barn, and he started to open his door.

She turned in her seat. “Ross, please say something.”

He hesitated. Sid had looked so ill in the few minutes Ross had sat with him in the recovery room after the surgery. And
she
couldn’t change that. With a quick glance at her, he opened the van door. “We need to get your horse back to my barn.”

She caught up to him at the barn entrance, her soft touch to his arm stopping him. Her eyes were big cinnamon pools of distress.

He stepped back and her hand fell. “Sierra, nothing I say is going to turn back time.”

The wind tangled the ends of her chestnut hair as she looked away, her back to the pasture. “What do you think happened?”

The weight of his own responsibility pressed into his chest. Why didn’t he double-check the gates when he turned Chance loose in the pasture last night? “Traitor hasn’t adjusted to the other horses for some reason.” He sighed. “I imagine he got agitated having Chance in his field and Sid tried to separate them.”

“How did Chance get out?”

“The gate separating my pasture from Sid’s was left open.”

Her eyes grew puzzled.

“Your kids were playing in the pasture yesterday after Sid left.”

“Oh.” Her eyes fell from his and she drew her jacket tighter around her body. “So …” she raised her eyes slowly, “you blame us.”

He jerked his gaze toward the pasture. “I’m not mad at you.”

She remained quiet, the wind whipping her hair.

The words burst from him. “I’m mad at—at …” He threw his arms up. “I don’t know what I’m mad at. I’m mad that Chance got loose in Sid’s pasture. I’m mad that Sid might lose his leg, might never be the same.”

Sadness filled the curves of her face. “I’m so sorry, Ross.”

“But that doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Sierra watched Ross stride across the pasture toward Chance, a blue lead rope dangling at his side. He gave the black horse near the fence a passing glance, then jerked back, and the low words whipped to her. “Oh, Lord!”

Whatever had happened, it was bad. Ross snapped the lead on the black horse’s halter and turned him so that she could see him. A large flap of his chest hung loose, the red flesh exposed and crusted with dried blood. Sierra’s stomach twisted.

Ross’s face was set in angry lines. “Sid doesn’t need this on top of everything else!”

Sierra backed a safe distance from the horse’s path as Ross led him toward the barn, the horse’s metal shoes crunching in the gravel. She waited until the black horse disappeared through the entrance, then followed, staying back until Ross closed the door to the stall.

He gave her a grim look. “We’ll have to call the vet.”

On a small ledge near the sink, an old black rotary phone rested atop a tattered phone book. After the call he grabbed another lead. “I’ll bring Chance in here to look him over. I don’t have any first aid in my barn.”

The sick feeling grew with visions of more gaping wounds. Sierra steeled herself and followed him to the fence.

He tossed her a brief glance as he walked Chance back through the gate. “Nothing major that I can see, just a few bites and abrasions. He’s lucky.”

Yet from the look on Ross’s face Sierra sensed that he wished Chance had been the injured one and not Traitor.