Leave It to Chance (22 page)

Sierra felt as though she’d stumbled across something profound, but she didn’t know how to tether it to words she could grasp and get a hold of.

What made Harold different?

Sierra found herself listening to the sermon intently, with occasional glances toward Harold. Yes, he was focused on the sermon. But there was nothing earth-shattering in Pastor Darnell’s talk about the woman at the well. Of course, Jesus knew she was living with a man. He was God. Omniscient and all that.

She leaned forward to see Harold’s face better. Quiet peace radiated, as if the pastor were recounting a story Harold knew intimately, having gotten it firsthand from its source.

Sierra turned slightly to observe Elise. Her friend had the same kind of look on her face, a peace and contentment that all was well in her world. Sierra glanced back at Harold. His serenity seemed to come from within. Deep from some central point of who the man was. It was like he knew who he was, or rather to whom he belonged.

Hmm
. After church, she stepped into her van with more questions than answers.

Chapter 21

Ross’s cell phone rang. “Prestige Landscape Design.”

“Hey, Ross, it’s Carl over at Grainger’s. Nancy in accounting said we hadn’t gotten a payment from you, so I told her I’d give you a call.”

Ross set the vine maple down and rubbed his forehead. “Completely spaced it. Sorry, Carl. I’ll get a check out today.”

“No problem. I heard you were under the gun on that Cranwell job. I’ll let Nancy know she can expect a check in the next day or so.”

Ross left the maple next to the hole and headed for the pickup. He turned the truck around and started back down the driveway toward Sid’s. He hadn’t had time to sort things out in his mind with Sierra, and now he needed her help. She must think he was a total jerk. He deserved it if she ripped his checks to shreds.

He parked in front of the house and walked quickly up the sidewalk, the engine ticking in the cool air.
Dig deep, Ross
. He rapped on the door and entered.

Sid’s eyes lit up. “Ross! I’ve missed you, son. Know you’ve been busy across the road.”

Ross’s eyes strayed toward the kitchen.

Sid followed his gaze with a knowing nod. “Wondered how long it would take you to come around.”

Ross rubbed the back of his neck and headed for the kitchen.

“I’d tread lightly.” Sid chuckled. “At least the kitchen knives haven’t been sharpened in a while.”

Ross threw him a look over his shoulder.

Sierra had her back to him as she cut up vegetables. Ross cleared his throat and she whirled. A ripple of pleasure was there and gone. Guardedness slid into its place. He eyed the knife pointed toward him. “You, uh, making dinner?”

“Yes.” She turned back to the counter, a carrot taking the full brunt of the knife.

“I, uh, Braden’s been doing great with Chance.”

“Thanks for taking the time. I know you’re busy. I hear my mom has brought Emory and Trevor over to enjoy the show.”

“Yeah. They help Braden brush him down when we’re done.”

“Hmm.” She reached for a stalk of celery.

Ross winced at the damage she did to it. Better get out of there fast. He rubbed the back of his neck again. “Did you, uh, have a chance to write out the checks?”

She pointed the knife toward a corner of the kitchen, her attention never leaving the vegetables.

He stared, trying to figure out—did she expect him to go stand in the corner? “Listen, Sierra, I’m sorry. I’ve acted like a jerk. I just haven’t had time—”

“They’ve been sitting by the door for the last week, waiting for you to sign them.”

Ross wiped a hand over his face. “Sorry. It’s been a rough day.” She stared at the counter, and he walked over and gently tugged her outside so they could have a private conversation.

She bit her lip, then looked past him toward the barn, shivering in her thin blouse. “Ross, why have you been avoiding me?”

His heart clenched at the hurt in her voice. He’d caused that pain, yet she was brave enough to ask. He was the coward. He led her to his pickup, where it’d be warmer.

He opened the driver’s door and she scooted in and over to the passenger’s side. She seemed smaller, sitting so still with her hands pressed to her thighs, brown eyes watchful.

He shifted in the seat.
Honesty always.
Sid had taught him that. He leaned his arms against the steering wheel and turned his head, catching her gaze, his voice soft. “I like you a lot, Sierra.”

Color entered her pale cheeks, but she didn’t look away.

“Yet I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Confusion rolled across her features.

“There are certain convictions I live by. But I was upset and not thinking clearly. I’m sorry.”

Sierra’s arms went around her waist. “So you weren’t thinking clearly.”

He sighed.
Great start, Ross.
How could he explain that he was drawn to her in a way that turned his world around, yet he didn’t know where she stood with God? “Sierra, you haven’t done anything wrong. I—”

“So by these
convictions,
you mean God, don’t you?”

Ross hesitated. If he said yes, he’d lose her. He could see it in her eyes. Slowly he nodded. “I should have—”

Her hands clenched in her lap. “So if I was a Bible thumper, then you could kiss me all you wanted, is that what you’re saying?” Her gaze skewered him.

He took another breath. “It’s not—”

“You don’t need to explain anything.”

When Sierra finally stepped into her mom’s living room that night, the kids ran to greet her. Braden reached her first and gave her a tight squeeze, then leaned back. He still wasn’t wearing his eye patch; he hadn’t worn it since Michael told him not to.

“Did you see me and Ross in the field today? Chance is doing so awesome. Ross showed me how to back him up and turn him and everything. He set up the obstacles for the trail course and Chance can do them
all.
Ross said he was probably a 4-H horse in his younger years. Isn’t that cool?”

Sierra attempted a bright smile. “That is so awesome, honey.”
God, keep my kid safe.
She’d tossed up quite a few of those prayers lately when she watched Braden from Sid’s living room window. Sid finally told her to pull the blinds, that she was making him nervous with all that hovering.

She ran a hand over Braden’s silky mop. “How’d it go with your dad this weekend?”

His eyes slid from hers and a sullen note crept into his voice. “I dunno.”

“What happened, honey?”

He pulled away from her hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He flopped on the couch and clicked on the TV.

“Mom?” Emory’s voice was soft. “Can we pray for Daddy?”

Where did that come from?

“Um, sure Sweetie. What would you like to say?”

“Can you do it? He’s been really crabby and his work isn’t going good.” Emory waited, trust innocently riding the silence, certain her mom would have the words.

Sierra’s chest dropped in a deep exhale.
Pray for Michael?
What could she say? She cleared her throat. “Dear God. Could you please help Daddy feel happier and please help his business do better. Amen.”

When Emory squeezed her waist before trotting off toward the kitchen, she knew she’d passed.
Why did Emory want to pray?
It wasn’t like they were a praying family, other than the bedtime ritual, and that was done by rote. “Dear God, protect Emory and keep her safe. Amen.” It was just part of the routine, like reading a bedtime story or making sure the same stuffed animal was tucked under the covers.

Of course, the kids occasionally expanded the prayer to include protecting Grandma or helping them get a new bike or a special toy. But they never prayed in the middle of the day, like Someone would actually be waiting and listening.
Were Michael and Gina talking about the bankruptcy in front of the kids? Adding more pressure to their lives to the point that Emory was driven to prayer?

She followed her daughter. “Em? What made you want to pray?”

Emory peeled a banana, a delighted smile showing the fractional space between her two front teeth. “Mrs. Adair told us that Jesus wants to help us all the time. We just have to ask.”

“Who’s Mrs. Adair?” Sierra mentally ran through the teachers at Emory’s school, but the name didn’t pop up. An aide or parent volunteer?

“My Sunday school teacher.”

The pieces fell into place. “I think you mean Mrs. Duncan, honey.” That was the name Sierra recalled in the time or two she’d taken the kids to Sunday school at her mom’s church.

Emory shook her head, her bangs dancing until they settled back just below her eyebrows. Sierra needed to get the scissors out before school tomorrow. “No, my Sunday school at Gina’s church.”

Gina’s church?
Sierra felt her blood begin to boil. What was the woman thinking? Steal her husband and lure her children into thinking Michael, Gina, and kids were one big happy family because they went to church?
The hypocrites!

“Daddy didn’t go. Gina wanted him to, but he said he was too tired.” She took another bite, her eyes excited. “Gina let me try to feel the baby move. Daddy wants a boy, but Gina wants a girl.”

Sierra asked the question slowly. “Honey, does Daddy talk about the baby much?”

Emory’s eyes lit and she nodded emphatically. “We talk about the baby all the time. I can’t wait to see if I get a little sister!”

Trevor had followed them in and wasn’t about to let his opinion go unrecognized. “I want a boy!”

“What does Braden want?” Sierra carefully watched the reaction of her two kids.

Trevor walked over and opened the lower cupboard door where her mom kept the kids’ cups. “I’m thirsty.”

Emory remained silent and lowered her face to stare at the floor.

“Em? What does Braden say about the baby?”

Emory lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug, her expression fragile. “He and Daddy fight all the time.”

Sierra kept her voice calm. “What do you mean, they fight?”

“Well, Braden was rude to Gina and said he hated the baby, which made Gina cry.” She looked up, a shadow in her blue eyes. “Daddy yelled at him and told him to apologize.”

Sierra sensed this moment was pivotal for her daughter. She sifted the words from a minefield of choices. “Braden should apologize. What he said was wrong.” She bit her bottom lip. “We can’t always change how we feel, but have a responsibility to keep those thoughts to ourselves if they are disrespectful or unkind.”

Emory looked down at her lap and whispered, “So it’s okay for Braden to hate the baby?”

I could use some help here.
Sierra sent the plea as if God were actually listening. She waited…. Nothing drifted down from the heavenlies bearing gold-wrapped wisdom.

“I don’t think Braden hates the baby as much as he hates the hurt he has inside.”

Emory looked up, her nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Remember how mad you were when Brenda Steeples pushed one of the kindergarteners at recess and then called you a tattletale for telling the teacher? Did you hate her, or did you hate how it made you feel?”

Another shrug. “I guess the way it made me feel. But Brenda Steeples doesn’t like anybody. And today Mrs. Miller gave her two pink slips for hitting Tommy Stevens.”

“So do you see that Braden isn’t mad at the baby as much as he’s hurt that Daddy doesn’t live with us anymore?”

“I guess.” She tossed the banana peel in the garbage. “Can I go watch a video?”

Sierra walked over and gave her a quick hug and kiss. “For a few minutes. Then you need to brush your teeth.”

Now to corral a boy who needed some loving.

Ross stepped through the door of his dark house, flipped on the lights, and headed straight for the office. A sigh of relief and a good portion of frustration whooshed from his chest. That afternoon, he’d called every vendor he could think of and asked them to fax over his outstanding bills.

His fax machine was loaded with them. His stomach growled. Food first. He stormed out to the kitchen and dug through the fridge for sandwich fixings. Armed with a pastrami sandwich and a Pepsi, Ross dropped the mayonnaise knife in the sink and started back toward his office, but not before he turned the coffee maker on, pouring in extra grounds. It was going to be a long night, and he needed to attack this mess with double-strength java.