Miracle on Chance Avenue

by Jane Porter

  “So you and I never met, but you knew about me?”

  She nodded. “And I kept tabs on you, from the time you joined the PRCA and then switched to the PBR, and then finally joined the Extreme Tour.”

  “You really did follow my career.”

  “I absolutely did, and always from afar, until I had a layover in Spokane a couple years ago, and I knew you were competing in Coeur d’Alene, so I rented a car and went to watch you. It was wild and addictive, and after that, I tried to see you whenever I could.”

  “You’ve mentioned flying before, and dating a pilot. I take it you were a flight attendant?”

  “Yes. I was with Big Sky for ten years.”

  “You’ve given up flying?”

  “After my mom died I realized I needed to stay put in one place. And so that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Do you miss the travel?”

  “I do. There was something exhilarating about taking off and landing somewhere new. I loved how every day would be different, and whenever I had a layover somewhere new, I’d get out and visit the city.”

  “And now your wings are clipped.”

  “They are, but hopefully not forever. If my business doesn’t take off and do what I want it to do, I’d have to find something else I could do that isn’t a desk job. I have a hard time being in the office all day, makes me feel cooped up.”

  “But Natalie is a good boss?”

  “Yes, and she’s been great about giving me time off for medical appointments and stuff like that.” Sadie nudged him. “Want to keep walking? If we want to do the wagon ride, we’ve got to reach the courthouse by eight.”

  He nodded, and they continued down the street, popping into different stores and then pausing at the corner to listen to a children’s choir sing. The kids were completely off tune, with some singing more robustly than others, while one boy covered his face with his music book, and at the other end of the line, a little girl danced in place, oblivious to all.

  Rory watched Sadie watching the children, and she was absolutely mesmerized by them, as if these wiggly, out of tune little human beings were the most fascinating things she’d ever seen.

  Watching her, he felt a pang. She really did want to be a mom, and she’d be a great mom, too.

  He wrapped his arm around her and gave her a slight squeeze. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded, blinking, trying to keep the shimmering tear from falling.

  “You’ll have your own one day,” he said. “It won’t be long.”

  She nodded again, struggling to smile. “I was just thinking about my mom. It’s just starting to sink in that she’s not coming back.”

  “Grief isn’t easy,” he said gruffly.

  “I miss her every single day.”

  The kids finished their song and their vocal director had them moving up a block. Rory drew Sadie away from the crowd and noise so they could talk. “How did she die? Was it an accident?”

  “Heart attack. I didn’t even know she had any heart problems. She looked so healthy. She worked even the day she died.” She bundled her arms across her chest. “I was flying the day she died. She left me a message saying she was tired and going to lie down, that she’d been short of breath all day and maybe she’d overdone it, but she’d be fine, and I shouldn’t worry.” Sadie chewed on her lower lip. “By the time I’d checked into the hotel with the flight crew and phoned her, she was gone. She’d died that night at home, alone.”

  Sadie looked up at him, shadows in her eyes. “The last house she cleaned was the Bingley’s. And maybe it’s unreasonable of me, but I’m so mad at Carol Bingley for not caring more about my mom. I’m so mad that my mom meant nothing to her. You’d think that after twenty years, Mrs. Bingley might have sent a sympathy card or note, or dropped a casserole off, but no. She never said one word to me about my mom, not until today, when she saw us, together.” She drew a raw, rough breath. “But if Mrs. Bingley had died, my mom would have been cooking food for Mr. Bingley, and over there arranging flowers and just helping because that’s what good people do.”

  He hugged her then and held her tight, her cheek pressed to his chest. “Your mom was a good person.”

  She hugged him back, hugging him hard. “She was. She was a great person.”

  He could tell she was trying not to cry. He could feel each ragged breath, and her sadness made him want to protect her forever.

  Finally, she eased herself back and looked up at him, dark eyes still wet. “All I can think about is how I never thanked her. She sacrificed so much for me and I don’t think I ever told her how much I appreciate everything she did for me.”

  He reached out and lightly ran his fingers over her cheek where a tear still shimmered. “Do you think parents want that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is that why you want children? So they’ll be grateful for your sacrifices?”

  She scrunched her nose. “That sounds awful.”

  “I doubt, then, that your mom kept score.”

  “Oh, she’d never do that. Not ever.”

  “So what would she want from you?”

  Sadie stared off toward the towering Christmas tree at Crawford Park. “She wouldn’t want anything from me.”

  “Then what would have been important to her?”

  She took another minute to think this over, too. “She would have wanted me to live the best life I could.”

  “Then that’s what you need to do.” He kissed her brow, covered by her knit cap, and then kissed the tip of her small, straight nose, and then one last light kiss on her full, warm lips. “You thank her by living the best life you can.”

  Sadie shot small glances up at Rory as they crossed Court Street on their way to the Crawford Park where they’d get in line for the wagon ride with all the others already queuing up by the big Christmas tree that went up every weekend just after Thanksgiving.

  He’d made her ache earlier when he’d said he’d love his children too much, and now he gave her hope by telling her that her mom would want her to live the best life possible because that was exactly the kind of thing her mom would have said. Her mom wouldn’t want anything from Sadie but for Sadie to be happy, and surrounded by loyal, loving friends and family.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, giving his arm a little squeeze.

  He glanced down at her, brow lifting. “For?”

  “Bringing me out tonight, and talking to me about my mom. What you said really resonated with me, about me thanking her by living the best life I can. You have no idea how much that helps. Because it’s something within my control, you know? It’s a choice I can make every day... to live the best life I can.”

  “Smart girl.”

  They joined the line winding past the massive decorated tree. Kids were sucking on sticky candy canes while parents clutched coffee cups, trying to stay warm. It was a beautiful, clear night, the wind having chased all the clouds away, leaving the dark sky glittering with countless stars. The trees in Crawford Park were frosted and iced while the courthouse dome gleamed a brilliant white.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said after a moment, “but it’s actually good to be back, and I wouldn’t be here tonight if it weren’t for you. I was trying to remember when I last came to the Stroll and it was probably my senior year of high school.”

  “That long ago?”

  “You make it sound as if we’re talking about when dinosaurs roamed the earth.”

  She laughed and lightly smacked his shoulder. “Stop it. You know what I mean. And you’re not that much older than I am. Just three years, I think.”

  “The Stroll has changed, though. Main Street still has all the lights and garlands and booths with sweets, but I could have sworn they used to do the judging of the gingerbread competition in the lobby of the courthouse.”

  “They did. About ten years ago they moved the competition to Bank of Marietta, and now it’s at the Graff.”

  “When I w
as a kid, Santa used to sit next to the Christmas tree at Crawford Park in a fancy gold and red velvet chair.”

  “That changed the year we had the ice storm, and Santa refused to sit outside and freeze to death.”

  “Don’t blame him,” Rory said, tugging the zipper higher on his coat. “It’s cold tonight, and many locals would consider this balmy.”

  “Does it bother you that Santa and the gingerbread competition are now at the Graff?”

  “Why would it?”

  “There’s been some chatter that maybe the Graff has become a little too involved, and it’s taking over too much. But I don’t know if that’s true. Wasn’t the Graff here since the beginning? Yes, the hotel was boarded up for a long time, but my mom remembered going to the Graff as a girl to see Santa, and that was back in the forties or fifties, and I’m sure Mr. Graff must have hosted big holiday events there in the hotel’s heyday.”

  “I think people are just jealous. The Sheenans have done well for themselves.”

  She darted a quick glance in his direction. “You weren’t always a fan of the Sheenans.”

  “You know about all that?”

  “Everyone did at Marietta High.”

  He shrugged. “I only ever had a problem with Trey. He put my sister through hell, but they’ve worked it out and Mac’s happy, so I’m not going to hold a grudge.” He gave his empty cup a swirl. “And this is totally off topic, but this hot chocolate from Sage’s shop is so much better than the instant stuff we used to sell in our Future Farmers of America booth.”

  Sadie laughed, but that was because she remembered the annual FFA booth set up outside the Mercantile and their lukewarm, barely drinkable hot chocolate priced for $1, outrageous considering they only put in two miniature marshmallows per Styrofoam cup. “I’ll have to tell Sage. Having belonged to the FFA, I think she’ll appreciate the compliment.”

  In the distance, sleigh bells could be heard, along with the steady clip-clop of hooves. The wagon was on its way. Standing on tiptoe she watched the wagon turn the corner, and proceed down Court Street, bells jingling, the big horses moving at a brisk pace. She felt a thrill as the gorgeous horses approached, and then another as the wooden wagon rolled to a stop. The wagon rides had been part of the Stroll since she was a little girl, and every year she and her mom would board for a ride around town.

  The bearded driver climbed down from his seat and positioned the stepstool in front of the wagon and began assisting people up.

  Sadie flashed Rory a smile as he handed their tickets to the driver. “This is the perfect way to kick off the holidays,” she said, trying not to clap her hands, but ridiculously excited because what could be more festive, or more romantic, than a wagon ride with the most handsome man in Marietta?

  “I wasn’t feeling the holiday spirit before, but I’m getting there,” he answered, taking her elbow to keep her steady as she climbed up the stepstool.

  He followed her up, grabbed the carelessly folded blanket from the edge of their hay bale and, taking a seat next to her, he covered her legs and lap, tucking the blanket in around her waist.

  “Real men don’t get cold?” she teased, noticing he hadn’t covered his lap.

  “I’ve got you,” he said, closing the gap between them so they were hip to hip, his hard thigh pressed to hers.

  A few minutes later they were off, and Rory put his arm around her, supporting her back over the bumps and jolts in the road. Kids in the front were singing “Jingle Bells,” and Sadie glanced around, seeing the smiles, feeling the happiness. She was smiling and happy, too, and she knew she’d remember this night always. At least, she wanted to remember this night, and so she made tiny mental notes of everything—the bright stars overhead, the periodic jingle of the sleigh bells, the grassy smell of the hay bales, and Rory, next to her, of course.

  She stole another glance in his direction, feeling impossibly lucky to have this one night with him. No matter what else happened, she’d always have this memory, and she’d cherish it even more after he was gone.

  “If you keep smiling at me like that,” he said quietly in her ear, “I’ll end up kissing you in front of all these people.”

  Her pulse quickened, need and desire making her stomach flip. “You’re evoking painful memories of Mrs. Bingley,” she whispered with mock severity.

  His blue eyes glinted with laughter. “If that’s not a mood killer, I don’t know what is.”

  “Then I think we should definitely keep discussing her.”

  “So you do want to be kissed.”

  “By you? Of course. No one kisses like you, but, Rory, I’m going to be a big pregnant lady soon, and you won’t find that quite so appealing.”

  “I think you’ll be a very sexy mom-to-be.”

  “Have you ever seen a naked pregnant lady?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “Demi Moore, Jessica Simpson, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Nia Long.”

  “Oh. On magazine covers.” She made a face. “I’m pretty sure I won’t look like that.”

  “And I’m pretty sure most of them had some airbrushing done.” His gaze swept over her in a thorough, leisurely inspection. “I’d very much like to see you naked, pregnant or not.”

  Heat rushed through her, making her tingle from head to toe. “Where is your mind?”

  “Sweetheart, I’ve wanted you in my bed from the first moment I laid eyes on you.” He gave her a crooked, wicked smile. “Now, be honest. Haven’t you ever imagined being with me?”

  Every single day, she thought breathlessly, eyes locking with his. For an endless moment she couldn’t breathe, remembering how much she’d wanted him, and how frequently she’d pictured him peeling off his shirt, and then dropping his Wranglers, revealing hard, honed muscles everywhere. Sadie locked her knees together, fighting the flood of desire. “Of course, I did. But I didn’t just want to jump into bed with you. I wanted to know you. I wanted to do... this.” She gestured to the night and stars and the world around them. “Go places with you, hang out with you, just be with you.”

  “Like we did today.”

  “Yes.” She blushed, suddenly shy because today was pretty much the perfect day. Well, except for the emotional outbursts and crying jags and hysterical declarations on Main Street. Those she could have done without. “Today was great, and tonight’s been nothing short of amazing.”

  “And tonight isn’t over.”

  “True.”

  “So, want to tell me about these three donors of yours?”

  Sadie nearly jumped out of her seat. It was the absolute last thing she expected him to say. “What?”

  “I’m curious about what you’re looking for in a donor. But there is no pressure. I can understand if you don’t want to talk about it with me.”

  She’d wanted to talk to him for years. She’d wanted a real conversation where she could get his thoughts and opinions, but this was definitely bittersweet. “It hasn’t been as easy as I thought it would be. There are thousands of donors. So many options. But I’ve narrowed it down to three and feel pretty good about them.”

  “What was your criteria?”

  “I wanted someone smart, and strong. Someone with integrity. Ideally, he’d have a sense of humor, too, because you’ve got to be able to laugh when things get hard.”

  Rory’s lips curved in a faint smile. “Humor is huge.”

  “But it’s hard to know from the profiles if he has a good sense of humor. After all, the people who claim they are funny, are rarely funny.”

  “This is true.”

  “So how do I know if he would be as good and kind as he says he is? How do I know that he’s generous and supportive of others?”

  “I’d think the profiles would include a resume or some kind of list of accomplishments.”

  “They do, in a vague sort of way. For example, one is a medical doctor and the profile doesn’t say where he went to school, or which field of medicine he specialized in,
rather it’s ‘A New York native, #1234 moved to Montana four years ago to practice medicine in Missoula. 6’2” and one hundred and eighty pounds, #1234 is an avid fisherman, rock climber, snowboarder, and spends most of his free time outdoors.’”

  “Sounds like a catch. Why don’t you just go with him?”

  “Because there’s no mention of his family and if he even likes people. What if he’s an athletic brainiac with no heart?”

  “And heart’s important?”

  “Very much so.”

  “What do you like about him?”

  “He’s smart and successful.”

  “Right.”

  “And the clinic told me he’s fairly attractive.”

  “You don’t get to see a photo?”

  She shook her head. “No, but the nurse said he’s a 7.5, maybe an 8.”

  “That’s pretty good for a doctor. Those guys aren’t always attractive.”

  Sadie stifled a giggle. “That’s terrible.”

  “Hey, I’m not knocking doctors. I appreciate the really good ones. They’ve put me back together more times than I can count. So what about the other two?”

  “One is a high school math teacher, and the other is a professional musician.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you have a type.”

  “That’s the thing. Is there a type for being the best father? I don’t know.”

  “But the donor isn’t going to be the father, is he? You’re going to be the parent, so does it matter if he’s paternal or not?”

  Sadie’s smile faded, and she tugged on her gloves, and then pulled her coat sleeves down lower. “So you don’t think nature has anything to do with it?” she asked carefully, inexplicably blue. “You believe it’s all nurture?”

  “Sweetheart, I think you’d be happier picking someone you know personally, rather than a stranger from a donor catalog because you’d know his family and how he and his family relate, but since you didn’t ask me that, I won’t give you my opinion.”

  “Funny, I could have sworn you just did.”

  He smiled at her, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and it struck her that he wasn’t quite as relaxed as he’d been earlier. It also struck her that he most definitely had an opinion on who she should pick as a father for her child... or more accurately, who she shouldn’t pick.