Leave It to Chance Read online

  LEAVE IT TO CHANCE

  Published by David C Cook

  4050 Lee Vance View

  Colorado Springs, CO 80918 U.S.A.

  David C Cook Distribution Canada

  55 Woodslee Avenue, Paris, Ontario, Canada N3L 3E5

  David C Cook U.K., Kingsway Communications

  Eastbourne, East Sussex BN23 6NT, England

  The graphic circle C logo is a registered trademark of David C Cook.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes,

  no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form

  without written permission from the publisher.

  This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s

  imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.

  LCCN 2008922245

  ISBN 978-1-4347-9988-3

  eISBN 978-1-4347-6571-0

  © 2008 Sherri Sand

  Published in association with WordServe Literary Agency

  10152 Knoll Circle, Highlands Ranch, CO 80130

  The Team: Susan Tjaden, Traci DePree, Jaci Schneider, Karen Athen

  Cover Design: Brand Navigation

  Interior Design: The DesignWorks Group

  First Edition 2008

  For Mat, who never doubted the Giver or the gift

  And to my father-in-law, Art Sand,

  the Sid dear to my heart

  In memory of Loren Ellis Herbert (1919–2007),

  who left behind a legacy of love

  Contents

  Thank You

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  A Conversation with Sherri Sand

  Thank You

  To the precious jewels of my prayer team: Laura Hicks, Lorene Smith, Amanda Hvass, Jill Purcell, Brenda Leighter, Becky Edwards, Diana Thatcher, Linda Frizzell, Tammy Dorsing, Kimberly McConnell, and Stacy Skrip. This book is a direct result of their prayers and faithfulness.

  Special thanks to my agent, Greg Johnson of WordServe Literary, for his belief in me.

  Heartfelt appreciation goes to Susan Tjaden, who is an amazing editor to work with. All authors should be so fortunate. Her skill, friendship, and lively sense of humor made tailoring this book a complete joy.

  Without the editing skills of Traci DePree, this book would not be what it is. She found the diamond buried deep beneath a mountain of coal. Thank you!

  The whole team at David C. Cook who made this book possible. Thank you all!

  Many thanks go to Lisa Thornburg, Wanda Dyson, Miralee Ferrell, and Traci DePree for their horse expertise.

  Thanks to Master Gardener, Susan Fields, my dear aunt who loaned me her green thumb and gave wonderful advice on plant life. Any errors are my own.

  Thank you to Marissa Korthuis and Debbie Korthuis for the excellent 4-H help. I couldn’t have done it without you two! Any errors are my own.

  Thank you to John Thornburg for helping me understand how a police officer would handle a missing-child call.

  Thank you to Claudia Womack for her unemployment benefits expertise. Any fudging of the facts is my own.

  Special thanks to Sharon Hinck for paving the way and holding my hand.

  Much appreciation to the women of my two critique groups: Sharon Hinck, Katherine Scott Jones, Jenna Reedy, Karen Kennedy, Miralee Ferrell, Kimberly Johnson, and Teresa Morgan.

  A special thanks goes to my pastors, Sean and Tan McCartin, for their love and commitment to see me fall more deeply in love with Jesus.

  Thanks to my parents, Bill and Lorene Smith, and Vincent and Dolly Gwillim, for believing in me and molding me into the person I’ve become.

  And especially to my beloved husband, who has been excited every step of the way. You are my dearest treasure and best friend. And to my precious children, Tristan, Logan, Brielle, and Kaden. You’ve made my life complete.

  Chapter 1

  “A horse? Mom, what am I going to do with a horse?” Just what she and the kids did not need. Sierra Montgomery sagged back against her old kitchen counter, where afternoon sunlight dappled the white metal cabinets across from her. She pressed the phone tight against her ear, hoping she’d heard wrong, as her four-year-old son, Trevor, ate grapes at the kitchen table.

  “Miss Libby wanted you to have it. I’d think you’d be delighted, what with the kids and all. You remember Sally, Miss Libby’s daughter? Well, she just called and said it was all laid out in the will. None of their family could figure out who Sierra Lassiter Montgomery was until Sally remembered me from her mom’s church. So she called and sure enough, you were my daughter.” Sierra’s mom tsked into the phone. “Well, you know how Sally is.”

  Sierra hadn’t the foggiest how Sally was, or even who she was. She barely remembered Miss Libby from her Sunday school class eons ago.

  “She acted pleased that her mother gave you the horse, but I could tell she was miffed. Though what Sally Owens would do with a horse, I’d like to know.” Her mom’s voice was tight and controlled as if they were discussing how to deal with black spot on her Old English roses.

  “But I don’t want a horse. You, of all people, should know that after what happened when—” How could her mom even suggest she get a horse? Painful pictures of her childhood friend Molly floated through her mind.

  “Honey, accidents like that don’t happen more than once in a lifetime. Besides, Miss Libby wouldn’t have owned a crazy horse.”

  Sierra stared out the window where the school bus would soon release her most precious treasures. Her mom never had understood the resounding impact that summer day had made in her life.

  “You really need to think of the kids and how much fun they’d have. It’s not like you’d ever be able to afford to buy them one.”

  Sierra wished she were having this conversation with Elise rather than her mother. Her best friend would understand the danger she feared in horses, and in her humorous way come up with a sensible plan that would include not keeping the animal.

  Her mom, on the other hand, lived life as if she were on one of those moving conveyors at the airport that people can step on to rest their feet yet keep moving toward their destination. As long as everyone kept traveling forward, she could ignore the emotional baggage dragging behind.

  “I don’t understand why Miss Libby would give the horse to me.”

  “You know how my bingo club visited the Somerset rest home every week? Well, Miss Libby’s been there for years and she always did comment on how horse crazy you were when she taught your Sunday school class.”

  “Mom, that was a phase I went through when I was ten and found National Velvet and Black Beauty at the library. I haven’t seen Miss Libby since middle school.”

  “Obviously you were special to Miss Libby. I’d think you might be a little more grateful.”

  Deep breath, Sierra told herself. “I am grateful.” An errant grape rolled next to her toe. Trevor’s blond head was bent, intent on arranging the fruit like green soldiers around
the edge of his plate. Sierra tossed the grape into the sink and considered how to respond to her mom. She was a dear, but sometimes the woman was like dry kindling on a hot day, and one little spark…. “I’m just not sure that owning a horse would be a wise move at this point in our lives.”

  The front door slammed and Sierra felt the walls shudder with the thud. The 3:00 p.m. stampede through the house meant it was time to get off the phone and determine how to get rid of a horse before the kids found out about it.

  Her mom sighed. “It’s too bad Sally won’t keep the horse at her place for you, but she said her husband wants the horse gone. He wants to fill the pasture with sheep.”

  Sheep? A kitchen chair scraped over the linoleum as Trevor scooted back from the table and dashed for the living room. “Mommy’s got a horse! Mommy’s got a horse!” Wonderful. Little ears, big mouth.

  Braden and Emory shot into the kitchen, bright eyes dancing in tandem. Their words tangled together in fevered excitement despite the fact that she was on the phone.

  “Where is it?” Braden’s eleven-year-old grin split his face, and his dark hair was rumpled and sweat streaked, likely from a fevered game of basketball during last recess.

  She held a hand up to still the questions as her mom went on about the sheep that Sally’s husband probably did not need.

  “We have a horse?” Nine-year-old Emory, her blonde hair still neat in its purple headband, fluttered in front of her mom, delight and hope blooming on her face.

  Despite the fear of horses building deep in Sierra’s gut, her children’s excitement was a little contagious. She wished Miss Libby had willed her a cat.

  Sierra ran her hand down Emory’s soft cheek and whispered. “I’ll be off the phone in a minute, sweetie.”

  “Can we ride it?” Em looked at her with elated eyes.

  Braden tossed his backpack on the table. “Where are we going to keep it?”

  The kids circled her, jabbering with excited questions. Sierra rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “I gotta go, Mom. I’ve got to break some cowboy hearts.”

  The kids clamored around her, Braden taking the lead with an arm draped across her shoulder. When had he gotten so big? “Do we have a horse, Mom?” He asked the question with a lopsided grin, a foreshadow of the adolescence that had been peeking through lately. The preteen in him didn’t truly believe they had a horse—he was old enough to realize the odds—but little-boy eagerness clung to his smile.

  “That would be yes and a no.”

  “What? Mom!” he complained.

  “I was given a horse, but we’re not going to keep him.”

  Braden’s arm slid off her shoulder, a scowl replacing his smile. “Why not?”

  “Someone gave you a horse?” Emory ignored her brother’s attitude and flashed her most persuasive grin. “Can we keep him? Please!”

  Sierra smoothed her hand over the silky hair and leaned close to her daughter’s face as Emory went on. “I think we should get four horses so we each have one. We could go trail riding. Cameron’s mom has horses, and they go riding all the time as a family.”

  “We’re not a family anymore,” Braden cut in. “We stopped being a family when Mom divorced Dad.”

  A shard of pain drove into Sierra’s gut. She hadn’t had time to brace for that one. Braden’s anger at the divorce had been building like an old steam engine lately.

  “That’s not fair!” Outrage darkened Emory’s features. “It’s not Mom’s fault!”

  Sarcasm colored Braden’s voice. “Oh, so it’s all Dad’s fault?”

  Sierra saw the confusion that swept over her daughter’s face. She was fiercely loyal to both parents and didn’t know how to defend them against each other.

  Sierra spoke in a firm tone. “Braden, that’s enough!”

  He scowled at her again. “Whatever.”

  Sierra held his gaze until he glanced away.

  “Guys, we’re not going to play the blame game. We have plenty to be thankful for, and that’s what is important.”

  Braden’s attitude kept pouring it on. “Boy, and we have so much. Spaghetti for dinner every other night.”

  “So what, Braden-Maden!” Emory made a face and stuck her tongue out at him.

  “No more fighting or you two can go to your rooms.” Her kids were not perfect, but they used to like each other. Something had changed. Her gut said it was her ex-husband, Michael, but what if she was falling into the whole “blame the dad” thing herself? What if she was really the problem? Two weeks without a job had added stress and worry. Had she stopped hugging them as often in between scouring the want ads and trying to manage a home and bills?

  “Mom?” There was a quaver in Trevor’s soft voice.

  “Yes, honey?” Sierra gave him a gentle smile.

  “Can we keep the horse?”

  Emory’s blue gaze darted to meet hers, a plea in them. Braden sat with his arms crossed over his chest, but his ears had pricked up.

  Sierra looked at them, wanting them to understand and knowing they wouldn’t. “None of us know how to handle or care for a horse, so it wouldn’t be safe to keep him.”

  Emory’s face lit up. “Cameron’s mom could teach us.”

  “Honey, it’s not that simple. We can’t afford an animal that big. He probably eats as much in groceries as we do, and it would be very expensive to rent a place for him to live.”

  “I could mow yards.” Anger at his sister forgotten, Braden turned a hopeful face to her. “We could help out.”

  Emory jumped onto the working bandwagon. “Yeah. I could do laundry or something for the neighbors.”

  Braden drilled his sister a look that said idiot idea but didn’t say anything.

  Trevor bounced in his chair, eager to be a part of keeping the horse. “I could wash cars.”

  “Those are great ideas, but they won’t bring in quite enough, especially since it’s getting too cold to mow lawns or wash cars.”

  “You just don’t want to keep the horse, Mom,” Braden said. “I get it. End of story.”

  “Honey, I’d love for you to have a horse, but when I was young I had a friend—”

  Emory spoke in a helpful tone. “We know. Grandma told us about the accident.”

  They knew? Wasn’t the story hers to share? “When did Grandma tell you?”

  Braden’s voice took on a breezy air. “I don’t know. A while ago. Come on, Mom. We’re not going to do something dumb like your friend did.”

  Defensiveness rose inside. “She didn’t do anything dumb. It was the horse that—”

  “So because something bad happened to one person, your kids can never do anything fun for the rest of their lives.”

  Sierra gave him a look. “Or you learn from your mistakes and help your kids to do the same.”

  Braden rolled his eyes at her.

  Worry drew lines across her daughter’s forehead. “Are you going to sell him?”

  “Yes, Em. So we’re not going to discuss this anymore. You and Braden have homework to do.” At the chorus of groans she held her hands up. “Okay, I guess I’ll have to eat Grandma’s apple pie all by myself.”

  Braden grabbed his backpack and slowly dragged it across the floor toward the stairs, annoyance in his voice. “We’re going.” Emory trotted past him up the stairs.

  Trevor remained behind, one arm wrapped around her thigh. “I don’t have any homework.”

  She squatted and pulled him in for a hug. “Nope, you sure don’t, bud.”

  He leaned back. “Do I get a horse?”

  Sierra distracted him by inching her fingers up his ribs. “What, Trev?”

  He tried to talk around his giggles. “Do I get—Mom!” Her fingers found the tickle spots under his arms and he laughed, his eyes squinted shut and mouth opened wide. She found all his giggle spots, then turned on Sesame Street as the second distraction. Good old Bert and Ernie.

  Now what? She had roughly forty-five minutes to figure out how she was
going to get rid of a horse and not be a complete zero in her kids’ eyes.

  She eyed the phone and made her next move. Five minutes later a white Mazda whipped into her driveway. Sierra hurried out the front door waving her arms to stop Elise before she could start her ritual honking for the kids.

  Wide eyed, her platinum blonde friend stared, one long plum-colored nail hovering above the “ooga” horn on the dash. “What?”

  “I don’t want the kids to know you’re here.”

  Wicked delight spread across her perfectly made-up face. Light plum shadow matched her nails. Tomorrow, both eye shadow and nails could be green. “Let me guess! Mr. Pellum asked you out!”

  “Nooooo!” Mr. Pellum was a teacher Sierra and Elise had had a crush on in seventh grade.

  “Ummm … you robbed a bank and need me to watch the kids while you fly to Tahiti?”

  Sierra gave her a mock-serious look. “Done?”

  Elise tilted her head. “Can I get out of the car?”

  Sierra glanced toward the house. All was still silent. “Yes, you may.”

  Deadpan, Elise nodded and opened the door. “Then I’m done for now.” Her plump body, swathed in a creamy suit with a purple scarf draped across one shoulder, rose gracefully from the small two-seater.

  Sierra closed the door for her, then leaned against it. Elise had a way of removing the extraneous and reducing a problem down to the bare essentials. “Elise, I’m in a predicament.”

  “Hon, I’ve been trying to tell you that for years.”

  Sierra shook her head. “I don’t think you could have seen this one coming even with your crystal ball.”

  Elise gave her the spinster teacher look through narrowed eyes. “I don’t think I like the implications of that.”

  Sierra held her hands out. “You are the queen of mind-reading, according to my children.”

  Elise chuckled. “It’s a good thing I was just headed out for a latte break when you called. Now what’s the big emergency?” She owned a high-end clothing store for plus-sized women in downtown Eugene.

  “A horse.”

  Elise glanced around as if one or two might be lurking behind a tree. “A herd of them or just one?”

  “One. Full-sized. Living and breathing.”