by Sherri Sand
Outside, they led Chance through the gate and into the pasture. Ross held the reins. “I’m going to jog him a little to warm him up. See what he can do.” Ross pointed to where a barrel sat with a flag sticking out of a can on top. “That’s for the flag race.”
Cool!
Ross put his foot in the stirrup, and the saddle creaked as he passed his leg over Chance’s back. He made a clicking noise and Chance started into a trot toward the barrel.
Braden wished he’d hurry up.
Ross went up and down the field a few times and rode the horse in some patterns. He trotted back to Braden with a smile. “He knows his stuff. I’m going to take him around the barrel and see how he does.”
“Okay.”
Ross took off straight for the flagged barrel. As Chance rounded the barrel, Ross grabbed the old rag tied to a stick, and they galloped back across the starting line. He raised the flag toward Braden in a victory sign, then turned and trotted to the barrel and stuck the flag back in the can.
Ross rode him over to Braden with a huge grin. “I’d say old Chance here has done this before.”
That was way cool!
He got off and handed the reins to Braden. “Now before we can start you on the flag race, we need to teach you how to ride.”
“I rode him at Sally’s.” Braden reached for the reins, but Ross didn’t hand them over.
“That’s good, but I need to know that you can handle Chance before I let you up on him. Okay?”
Braden nodded. He wished Ross would hurry up.
“A horse isn’t like a car. You can’t steer him with the reins.”
Huh? That’s what they always did in those Westerns he saw on TV.
“You want your hands to be as still as possible. A horse will always move away from pressure. So instead of pulling his head where you want him to you, you’re going to guide him with your legs.”
Braden sighed. This sounded hard.
“Mount him and I’ll show you what I mean.”
Finally! Braden climbed on and sat way up there, his feet dangling above the stirrups. Ross adjusted them, and he slipped his feet in. Chance looked a lot different from up here with that narrow neck straight out in front of him.
“Now, when you want Chance to go, you squeeze both of your legs.”
Braden squeezed, then he lurched as Chance moved forward. “Hey, it worked.”
Ross walked beside him and nodded with a smile. “Yep. Now when you want him to turn left, you’re going to press your right leg into his side and he’ll move away from it to the left.”
Braden tried, but Chance kept going straight. “It’s not working.”
“Try it again, you’re probably using both legs. It can be tricky to move just one leg.”
Chance turned to the left. “Hey! He did it!”
“If you want to go right—”
Braden pressed his left leg and Chance moved to the right. “It works, Ross! This is so cool!” Braden practiced turning him a few more times.
“I should have told you this first, but when you need to stop him, you pull gently back on the reins.”
Braden pulled Chance to a stop. “Can I do the flag now?”
“Let’s practice walking him around some more. Then I’ll have you trot him a bit before we test you out on the flag.”
Braden squeezed his legs and Chance lurched forward again. He wished his dad could see him.
Saturday night, Braden sat across the coffee table from his dad, a marble checkerboard between them. “It’s your turn, Dad.”
“Hmm?” His dad raised his eyes from the dental magazine he was reading.
“I said, it’s your turn.”
“Oh.” He didn’t even study the board, just moved one of his pieces.
Braden jumped it. “It’s your turn, Dad.”
“Oh!” Gina sat up straight in the black leather recliner. She looked at his dad, her eyes excited. “Mike, I felt the baby move.”
“You did!” His dad jumped up from the leather couch and knelt next to her, his hand on her stomach. “What’d it feel like?”
Gina pressed her hand over his. “Like little bubbles.”
Emory and Trevor ran over, and his sister asked, “Can I feel?”
Gina smiled at her. “Sure, honey, but I think she’s too small still for you to feel her.”
His dad laughed. “Her, my foot. That’s a boy in there.” His dad leaned his mouth closer to speak to her belly. “Aren’t you my little green-eyed man?”
Braden slowly put the checkers away. He wished he had green eyes like his dad. None of them did.
His dad grinned at him. “Hey, Braden, do you want to see if you can feel the baby?”
Braden stacked the checkers—red, black, red, black. “No.”
His dad frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t you think you’re a little old to have more kids?”
“He’ll be your brother.”
“I don’t want another brother. I hate him already.”
Gina and his father stared at him. His dad’s mouth hung open before he snapped it shut. Then he yelled. “You apologize right now!”
Braden stood up. “No.”
His dad jerked to his feet and put a finger in his face. “I don’t want you talking like that in this house, young man.”
“Well, I don’t want to be here.”
“Go to your room.”
“Fine!”
Sunday morning, Sierra rolled over in bed, enjoying the snuggly warmth without the pressure of getting up to fulfill little-people demands. She’d been surprised when Michael asked to have the kids again. He really was trying with the kids. She closed her eyes and burrowed deeper. A horrible howling made her jerk, then she realized it was the coffee bean grinder in the kitchen. She closed her eyes again. Clack-clack-clack. Clack-clack-clack. Her mother in her Sunday morning heels. Sierra flopped onto her back. Clack-clack-clack.
Her mom had asked her last night, as she did every Saturday evening, if Sierra would come to church. But why bother, when she didn’t feel any different after the service than before?
Her thoughts drifted to Elise. Elise had something her mom didn’t. Would it help to know what that something was?
She threw back the covers and got up.
Sierra wandered into the kitchen threading her dressy black belt through the loops of her dark slacks.
Her mom assessed her appearance with arched brows. “Are you going to church, honey?”
She nodded. “With Elise.”
Her mom’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Well, that’s nice, dear. If you don’t mind all those hands in the air.”
Sierra gave a nervous laugh. “And a few deacons rolling down the aisles?”
Her mom gave her a sharp look. “It’s not how I raised you, but you’re old enough to decide where you want to fellowship. I’m just glad you’re finally going. As long as you don’t go overboard, Sierra. Some people in that church can’t speak a sentence without a ‘hallelujah, praise God.’”
“Mom, it’s one visit.”
“Well, I’m just saying.” Her mom left the kitchen.
Sierra called Elise from the van. “I’m coming today.”
“I’ll pick up the coffee. Meet you in front in fifteen.”
“They’re not going to make me dance in the aisles or anything, are they?” At the pause she said, “Sorry, my mom made me a little nervous.”
“Relax, hon. It’ll be fine.”
Elise was waiting on the front steps of the church with two Starbucks coffees.
Sierra took a sip and followed Elise into the foyer. An elderly gentleman with dentures too big for his gums reached for her hand with both of his. “Hello. So glad to have you with us today.”
Elise turned. “Harold, this is my dear friend Sierra.”
“Lord bless you, Sierra.” Such love in those faded blue eyes.
Elise leaned close as they entered the sanctuary. “Harold loves God more than any person I kn
ow. It’s like touching elbows with the Holy Spirit to be near that man.”
Hmm.
Elise introduced her to more of her friends, and they all seemed normal. Sierra listened hard, but didn’t hear one “halleluiah, praise God.”
The worship was a little out of her comfort zone with guitars and drums and a few raised hands, but nobody rolled around foaming at the mouth. Partway through the worship, Harold shuffled his way in and took his seat in the aisle across from her, next to a white-haired woman who turned to him with the sweetest smile.
When the pastor started his sermon, Sierra’s eyes kept straying to the old gentleman. The sharp angles of his shoulders poked through the dark plaid Sunday sweater. Oversized ears cupped forward as if they’d grown toward the pulpit like a flower seeking sunlight. What gave Harold that kind of joy? Sierra’s mom didn’t radiate that kind of joy and she practically lived at the church.
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.”