Week 34: Light the Fire

A choice, a tragedy, and life-altering consequences...


1st Chapter:

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.  ~Hebrews 6:19


“Hurry, Rena. We’re going to be late.” Kelsie tossed a tennis shoe across the room.

Rena caught it, but hesitated before slipping her foot in, halfheartedly tying the laces. “I-I think I’ve changed my mind.” Rena’s stomach turned over, the cereal she’d choked down for breakfast along with two cups of muddy-black coffee roiling unmercifully.

“You can’t change your mind.” Kelsie’s tone left no room for argument. “We’ve already committed to helping. We can’t let everybody down.” Another shoe careened toward her head, and Rena ducked.

She sighed as she slid an arm into her baby blue windbreaker. Kelsie was right.

She reached for the second shoe. “Remind me again why you roped me into doing this.”

Kelsie’s perky blonde curls bobbed as she paced Rena’s living room. “Because the church needs help building this house. They’re a good family, Rena. Their home burned to the ground and they didn’t have insurance. Plus, you’re good at slinging a hammer. In fact, you do it better than most guys I know.”

Burned to the ground. The words startled Rena. Her heart went out to the family. How could she just sit here and refuse to help when she had the means and the knowledge needed? Guilt nudged her as she zipped her jacket, staring into the distance before turning back to her friend. “It doesn’t hurt to have a dad who’s a builder. He’s taught me a lot. I even have my own tool belt, a birthday gift when I turned sixteen.”

“I remember. I was there.” Kelsie’s car keys jingled as she twirled them on a forefinger. “That’s one of the reasons we need you.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“Never mind.” She handed Rena a sack lunch she’d prepared and nudged her toward the door. “Go to the car.”

“But—”

Kelsie plastered manicured hands over her ears. “I can’t hear you.”

Rena groaned, but opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. “OK. I’m going.”

The sun’s wispy magenta arms embraced an awakening sky as they drove toward the building site. Despite her growing reservations about getting involved in this building project, Rena enjoyed the beautiful backdrop of the Smoky Mountains at dawn. She’d always been an early riser and reveled in the solitude of daybreak while the rest of the world lay slumbering.

“Kyle and I are going to the movies tonight.” Kelsie yawned as she braked for a light. “He has a friend he’d like you to meet. I thought we could double date.”

“No!” She’d rather have a root canal without the anesthesia. No way was she going to get mixed up with another self-centered smooth-talker who thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. “I mean, thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested. You know my track record, Kel. It’s hopeless. Guys are off limits—for good.”

“Nonsense, Rena. You can’t hide forever. Eventually you’ll have to plunge into the dating world again.”

Rena cringed at the thought. “Plunge? I prefer to…wade.”

“No, you prefer to sit on the beach with your nose in a book, oblivious to all the guys passing by. Just think about it, will you?”

“I already have, and I’m just not interested. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Kelsie frowned. “Rena, the world is full of nice guys.”

“Sure it is. And maybe someday I’ll win the lottery and retire a multi-millionaire.”

“But you don’t play the lottery.”

“And I don’t date—at least not anymore.”

“We’ll see about that.”

They turned into the work site and staccato hammering filled the air as Kelsie parked her Honda beside a mud-splattered black pick-up.

“Let’s go.” Kelsie unlatched her seat belt and grabbed the sack lunches. “Daylight’s burning, and there’s a lot to do.”

Rena sighed and drew in the musty-sweet scent of freshly sawn wood. She wished she shared Kelsie’s enthusiasm. As she eased from the car, flakes of sawdust settled like new-fallen snow across the damp earth. They brought back fond childhood memories of the many times she’d accompanied her dad on building projects. Those had been good times, before he’d become semi-retired and turned most of his days to leisurely games of golf with his grizzle-haired buddies.

“Where’s the party?” Rena stepped over a bag of concrete mix. “This place looks like a war zone with no survivors.” Broken cinder blocks and torn nail boxes littered the ground.

“Kyle’s over there.”

At the far side of the block foundation, Kyle lifted a two-by-four into place, but it was the guy hammering beside him that caused Rena’s breath to catch. Dark, unruly hair kissed broad shoulders. The thin fabric of his navy T-shirt strained over a terrain of muscles as he struck each nail neatly into place with a single, confident blow.

His strength caused her heart to lurch and her pulse to quicken. Rena tore her gaze away. She’d seen enough guys like him in New York City—handsome guys convinced they were a gift to every woman within a five-hundred mile radius—when all they really excelled at was breaking hearts.

She tightened the tool belt around her hips and hop-skipped through an obstacle course of construction supplies toward the two-by-four frame, ready to drive a nail. The quicker she got to work, the quicker she could get out of here.

Suddenly the thunderous crash of a stampede filled the air. As she spun to look, Rena was tackled by what felt like a runaway freight train. The breath rushed out of her as she flew airborne, and then slammed to the ground. A finale of fireworks exploded in her head. She sputtered for air.

Footsteps pounded as someone sprinted over gravel and jumped pallets of brick. A deep male voice shouted, “Sammy, no. Bad dog. Sit!”

Stunned, Rena shook her head to clear the fireworks and came face to face with a massive, drooling dog. Jowls drawn to expose spiked teeth, he loomed as if he intended to devour her for breakfast. Her heart pounded and her cries ripped the air. “Help! Kelsie!”

“It’s OK.” The male voice slid over her like warm molasses as the guy who’d been helping Kyle set down the two-by-fours and then dropped to his knees beside her. “It’s just Sammy. He’s harmless.”

“Yeah, right.” She dipped her head and attempted to shield her face with the collar of her windbreaker as the dog buried his meaty snout in her tangled hair. “Just get him away from me.”

He frowned and gave the dog’s collar a yank. “Sammy, no. Bad manners. Bad dog. Sit. Stay.”

Rena gasped and fought to bring her breathing under control. She sputtered, “T-that’s not a dog. It’s-it’s a bear.” She scooted through damp grass to put distance between them. As if to mock her, Sammy followed. He sniffed her hair and then lazily licked her face, leaving a trail of warm, sloppy saliva across one cheek.

“Yuck, I’ve been slimed.” She swiped a forearm across the gooey moisture and tilted her head to stare into the most soulful pair of doggy eyes she’d ever seen. Now that she could breathe again, he didn’t seem so menacing. “What’s your name, big boy?”

“My name’s Cody.”

A nervous giggle erupted, and she covered her mouth. “I meant the dog.”

“Oh, right. Meet Sammy.” Cody offered a hand and she sat up cross-legged, brushing slobber-matted hair from her eyes while she waited for the dizziness to pass. “He’s a Saint Bernard who thinks he’s a toy poodle. He forgets he weighs as much as a truck.”

Calluses mingled with her clammy palm and reminded her he still held her hand. She quickly let go. “Haven’t you heard of obedience school?”

“For me or the dog?”

She wiped her hand on her jeans. “Maybe you should check into a buy-one-get-one-free program.”

“Point taken.” He grazed fingertips over each of her arms, searching for cuts, and then brushed a smudge of slobber from her cheek with his knuckles. Rena shivered, and turned away. His voice gentled. “You OK?”

She shrugged and buried her hand in Sammy’s thick fur. “I’ll live. Are you sure he won’t bite?”

“He’s toddler tough, I promise. The worst he’ll do is drown you in slobber.”

“Been there, done that.” Rena scratched behind Sammy’s ears and his tail swept wildly across the ground. A cloud of sawdust erupted. Rena stroked the dog’s fur and murmured, “Hey, Sammy, you’re just a big, playful baby, aren’t you?”

“He’s a stinker. Sorry he knocked you down. He’ll get a timeout when we get home.” Cody shook a finger at the mutt. “It’s the doghouse for you, buddy.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Rena laid a protective hand on Sammy’s massive back. “He just scared me. There’s no need to punish him. I’m OK now.”

“Are you sure?” Cody grasped Rena’s hand again and helped her to her feet. The world swirled and turned gray for a moment before coming back to life.

“Yes.” She felt a bruise forming on her hip but dismissed the pain. She’d had much worse while living in New York. The realization was sobering, and reminded her she’d sworn off men for now…most likely for good. She tugged her hand from Cody’s and brushed blades of grass from the seat of her jeans. “Besides, I like dogs...most of the time.”

“Good thing, because Sammy likes to hang around the building site. He’s become a sort of…mascot.” Deep blue eyes studied her. Rena found herself dwarfed by his broad-shouldered, six-foot-something frame. She took a step back as he continued, “I’m Cody Jamison. And you’re...?”

She hesitated, but his gaze pierced her. The rush of her pulse was irrational, she knew, yet she couldn’t seem to bring it under control.

“Rena…” she finally murmured, and turned from him to Kelsie, who had sidled up to her. “We’d better get to work. It looks like a storm might be rolling in.” The breeze had picked up, and concrete dust swirled over the ground. Beyond the foundation, a row of willows danced.

“Well, OK...for now.” Cody reached for Sammy’s collar and grimaced as he jabbed a finger at the mutt. “Come on, you mangy beast. Go lay down. You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.”

They sauntered across the yard and Rena watched as Sammy chased his tail in a trio of circles before settling beneath one of the willows with his massive head nestled on two meaty front paws. Cody turned back to grin at her, and shook his head as if to say the dog would cause no more trouble.

She nodded. The whine of a circular saw pierced the air and exhaust fumes drew her attention as other workers arrived in a variety of pick-ups and sedans. Rena shook wooziness from her head as she reached for the hammer hanging from her tool belt. She wondered if her dizziness was caused by Sammy, or if Cody’s gentleness and humor had somehow dislodged a piece of the wall she’d so painstakingly erected to guard her heart.

She sighed as her gaze was drawn to Cody once more. Of course, it was the dog.

****

Cody aimed for the nail and missed. He stifled an oath as the hammer grazed his thumb.

“That’s gonna leave a mark.” Kyle snorted. “Better keep your eyes on your work…instead of Rena.”

“You’re a real comedian.” He reached for another nail, held it in place and sank it with a single blow. “But she is…appealing.”

Kyle laughed. “I thought you swore off women.”

“I have…but there’s always room for adjustments to the game plan.”

“Game plan?” Kyle quirked an eyebrow as he lifted another two-by-four into place. “This isn’t football, my friend.”

“I know.” He glanced away from the lumber long enough to find Rena once more. The baby-blue windbreaker stood out among hues of brown and gray building materials, and her long blonde hair lifted in the morning breeze as she and Kelsie worked together to lay two-by-fours along the foundation. “She’s a friend of Kelsie’s?”

Kyle nodded. “Since they were kids.”

“Wow, she swings that hammer like a guy.” He whistled appreciatively. “Wonder where she learned that.”

“Why don’t you ask her?” Kyle handed him a nail. “It’s a good place to start.”

“I don’t know…maybe.”

“She volunteers at the rec center, you know, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe you could come out and help with the basketball program. Who knows, you might run into each other there, too.”

“Smooth way of roping me in to volunteer.”

Kyle grinned. “If it works…”

Cody’s gaze locked with Rena’s as she walked over to get another box of nails. She smiled slightly, and motioned to Sammy, who slept beneath a tree at the edge of the site. When she held up one hand and formed her index finger and thumb into the OK sign, he grinned and nodded back.

“The rec center…on Tuesdays, you said?” He turned to Kyle.

“And Thursdays, like clockwork.”


Leave a comment for a chance to win this week's giveaway.

Purchase Light the Fire

Week 11: STOLEN MIRACLES

Congratulations to Deanna Dick, winner of last week's featured 1st -chapter book, MIRACLES AND MISCHIEF!
Miracles at Mills Landing, Book 2

1st Chapter:

Rebecca Gillespie gnawed the eraser end of a pencil as her attention wandered to the office window and a row of maples that lined the boulevard beyond. The street, which merely half an hour earlier had bustled with the traffic of people scurrying home from work, was now still. Trees swayed along a smattering of park benches, offering shade from late-afternoon sun. A gentle breeze drifted through the window, carrying the mild scent of changing leaves that signaled the end of lazy summer days. The cozy park beyond was quiet; parents had taken their children home for dinner.

The park and landing, which overlooked the sun-dappled Tennessee River, was one of the main reasons Rebecca had chosen this spot for her preschool—the scenery was stunning and tranquil, perfect for the safety of the children.

Other people’s children.

Stark realization stole Rebecca’s breath. She glanced at a calendar hanging on the wall above her desk. August thirty-first. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t blot out the coming month—September. Had it really been nearly five years since the accident that took her husband, Steve, as well as the child she’d carried? Rebecca’s fingers delved beneath her neat ponytail and ran the length of her hairline. A jagged scar hidden by layers of tamed curls was proof of the injuries she’d suffered and the fact that the daughter she’d longed for—that she’d been told had died that night—was really living somewhere in Mill’s Landing. Another family had claimed her for their own.

Rebecca leaned forward; reaching for a cup of coffee perched on the desk blotter. A delicate silver locket—two hearts intertwined—slipped from the collar of her blouse. As it dangled and swayed, she dismissed the coffee and slid the chain from her neck. Unclasping the locket, she gazed at its emptiness. A pang of frustration punctuated a wave of sadness, and Rebecca chastised herself before she was swept into the riptide. Why should she expect the locket to hold anything more than empty air? Her daughter was still missing—and in only a week or so, she’d celebrate her fifth birthday.

Rebecca opened her desk drawer and thumbed through countless folders until she found a familiar maroon-colored file. The riptide tugged mercilessly as she searched through documents for the letter she knew she’d find sandwiched between sheaves of legalese. Why she read it again now, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was driven by the fact that someone else, somewhere here in Mill’s Landing, was preparing for a birthday celebration with her daughter—a birthday that should be hers to share. The very thought made Rebecca crazy with longing.

The note was written in a flourish of deliberate swirls on opaque taupe parchment folded into thirds. Rebecca’s belly tangled and her blood rushed at her temples as she scanned the words.

Dear Rebecca,

The oncologist has informed me that my time left here on earth is short, so I long to put my affairs in order before the fateful day claims my final breath.

That said, a weight presses heavily on my heart. I have wronged you grievously, my dear, and for my actions I deeply, regretfully apologize. The night that unspeakable automobile accident claimed Steven’s life and nearly yours, as well, holds veiled secrets that must, however painful, now be spoken.

You see, Rebecca, the night remains crystal clear in my memory—from the initial news of the accident to learning that my precious Steven, my only child, was gone to me forever. It was easy to blame you for his demise. I warned him not to get mixed up with you—and then to compound that error by marrying someone fathoms below his social class and bringing a child into the world!

I was consumed by grief and contempt those five months you lay in a coma. It’s true the doctors were forced to take your premature child by emergency Cesarean section. But the child was not stillborn, Rebecca. The opposite is quite true—you gave birth to a healthy, though somewhat premature, baby girl.

As you know, since you had no family to take charge of the situation, except for me, I held the power of attorney for both you and your child. In poor health myself, battling this awful disease, there was no way I could maintain the care of an infant. I had no choice but to place your daughter into a private adoption with a couple living in Mill’s Landing. Whether they still reside there, I have no idea.

I never imagined you would survive your injuries, fully restored to health. My dying wish is for you to have all the happiness you deserve. I hope the inheritance I’ve earmarked for you will help. Please accept the money and do something good with it…something that would make Steven proud. He would have liked that.

Finally, forgive me, Rebecca. I beseech you to pray for my soul.

Marilyn Gillespie

The letter slipped from Rebecca’s fingers, fluttering across the desk blotter. She brushed tears from her eyes and drew a tremulous breath. Despite countless readings of the note, she continued to struggle with making sense of such shattering words. So much hurt…all unnecessary. From the very start of her relationship with Steve, Rebecca had gone to great lengths to be pleasing to his overbearing mother. Yet, Marilyn had taken an immediate dislike to her, doing her best to destroy the love that Rebecca and Steve shared. Rebecca hadn’t spoken to her since the day Marilyn, still incensed over the marriage and subsequent pregnancy, had insinuated Rebecca was nothing more than a gold-digger, merely after the Gillespie family money. That day had come merely a week before the accident.

Marilyn’s gold-digging assumption was the furthest thing from the truth. Rebecca was still in graduate school when she’d fallen in love with Steve, and admittedly more than a bit naïve about the way the world worked, but she loved Steve, and he’d adored her. A handful of months into the marriage the pregnancy came unexpectedly, yet they both were thrilled with the prospect of becoming parents.

Now he was gone forever and their daughter was missing. How was it possible?

Rebecca crossed her arms over the desktop and settled her head as tears joined the painful memories. Once the initial shock and rage of the letter had worn off, Rebecca prayed for Marilyn’s soul as well as for healing in her own heart. She also used the inheritance Marilyn left to open Precious Miracles. She’d believed if she was patient, her daughter would eventually come home to her. But three long years had passed since she’d first read Marilyn’s confession. No matter which route Rebecca took, she always reached a dead end. Though it was beyond frustrating, she struggled to remain positive. What good would it do to allow anger and despair to devour her?

In her heart, Rebecca also believed that even in this most unbelievable mess, God had a plan. She held fast to that belief. Yet, on days such as this when the memories crept in and stole the light, each breath still sliced like a knife.

Maybe she was trying too hard. She’d spent nearly every waking hour either managing the preschool or searching for clues. Maybe it was time to ease up a bit and let God handle it. Her grandma used

to say, “When the going gets rough, Becca, remember God’s always there to listen.”

Rebecca eased back in the padded desk chair and lifted her gaze. She clasped her hands and drew a deep, cleansing breath as she offered a silent prayer.

Tell me, Lord…how much pain might I endure? Will I ever find my daughter? And, if I do find her, what happens next, Lord?

****

“Have you been to the doctor yet?” Cole Siebert loosened his tie with one hand while gripping the steering wheel of the SUV with his other. The handsfree phone device made it easy to navigate traffic while talking to his sister—so much better for multi-tasking. “What did he say, Patty?”

“The babies are doing fine right now, but he wants me to rest more the next several weeks.” Patty’s voice drifted over the line. “I’m glad you’re meeting the preschool director today. I’m pretty sure the doctor is going to put me on bed rest with the next visit.”

“Do you want me to head home now? I could put off the preschool appointment until next week.”

“Next week might be too late, Cole. My appointment is in a few days.”

“Oh, well…” She must have sensed the apprehension in his voice, his hesitation.  “You’ll be fine and so will Kimmy.”

“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you—“

“Don’t.” He could picture her waggling a finger at him, the way she’d become accustomed to as his older sister. “You know, I think this may be a blessing in disguise.”

“How so?”

“It’s time, Cole, for you and Kimmy to make your own way. Leaning on me is stifling your social life. You haven’t been out in months.”

“I’m not ready to date.”

“I didn’t say anything about dating. I’m talking about getting your life back. You have to plunge back in. Leah would want you to move on…to be happy again.”

“How can I be happy?” The very idea tugged at him. Leah had been his biggest fan. But now she was gone, and he felt like a sundae without the hot fudge. “It’s just not fair.”

“Maybe not, but it is what it is.”

“Oh, sis, I’m so sorry.” Guilt stabbed Cole. “I’ve been selfish.”

“You’ve been hurting…and human. But you need to be strong now. You can’t miss your appointment with the preschool director. You’re already late. Kimmy is depending on you.”

“Can’t she enroll in kindergarten?” He applied the left turn signal and blew around a corner. “She’ll be five next week.”

“No. She missed the age cut-off by two weeks.”

“And they don’t make exceptions, right?”

“No. Not even for big-shot attorneys like you. We’ve both tried.” Cole tapped the brake as the traffic light turned yellow. “What’s Kimmy doing now?”

“Dressing Buttercup to star in her latest play.”

“That poor cat.” Cole shook his head and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. A warm breeze rustled his hair as it whispered through the open driver’s window, carrying the musky scent of fallen leaves. “Give her a kiss for me, and tell her I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“I will.”

“And sit down a bit. Put your feet up.”

“I’ll do that too if you promise to stop by the bakery to order Kimmy’s birthday cake after you leave the preschool.”

“Got it.” The light changed to green again. Cole hit the gas and crested a hill. He coasted through a second light before turning the corner. “Thanks, sis, for everything.”

“Make a good impression on that director, OK?” Patty urged. “And the sooner Kimmy can enroll and get started, the better. She needs someone to play with besides you, me, and the cat.”

“Soon she’ll have twin cousins, as well.”

“Yes, she will.”

Cole heard the happiness in his sister’s voice, which spurred him on. “But, in the meantime. I’ll do my best. I’m almost to the school. Traffic is thinning, thank goodness.” The clock on the dash flashed five forty-three. “Talk to you later, sis.”

Cole disconnected and tapped the gas pedal, pushing the speed limit slightly as he shifted lanes. The sun sank low on the horizon, casting a shimmer of magenta through maple trees that lined the boulevard. He was late for the appointment. Cole offered a silent prayer for the director’s understanding. The school had to work out for Kimmy…and for him. Patty had been more than gracious to help care for Kimmy the past several months while Cole returned to work following Leah’s passing. But Patty was right. The arrangement was never meant to be permanent, and she had sacrificed quite a bit to be there for him. It was time for her to take care of herself and her babies now, and for Cole to find his own way. So, Cole had phoned the preschool director—Rebecca somebody-or-other—that morning, and she’d agreed to meet with him at five this afternoon.  There was no more putting off the inevitable. Besides, Precious Miracles was the best of the best preschools in Mill’s Landing. Everyone said so, and even the Mill’s Landing Daily Journal had run a glowing feature story last month. Cole turned the corner, and the school came into view. The brick building, with its generous expanse of windows, beckoned. A powder blue sedan was parked near the rear of the lot.

Cole heaved a sigh. It was minutes before six, and maybe he’d blown the whole opportunity. How was he going to meet with the director and get Kimmy’s birthday cake ordered before the bakery closed at seven?

At the thought of Kimmy’s birthday, a wave of grief swept through Cole. The holiday was bittersweet, marking another first without his wife. She was only twenty-eight. Heart attacks weren’t supposed to happen to women who were young—to mothers with daughters who depended on them and husbands who adored them. Yet, it had. Leah was proof. Eleven months and Cole still struggled to find his footing through the loss. The world had become bland and colorless…whispers of gray punctuated by flurries of black. Yet the creeping phlox in an explosion of fuchsia blooming along the preschool entrance walkway told him there was color to enjoy—and plenty of it. He simply had to figure out how to move past the loss.

Like it or not, there was no turning back now.

Be sure to LEAVE YOUR COMMENT below to be entered into the drawing for this week's giveaway.

Purchase STOLEN MIRACLES:

Amazon Kindle

Nook Book

Pelican Book Group (ePub or Adobe PDF)

Week 10: MIRACLES AND MISCHIEF

Congratulations to Tanya Hanson, winner of last week's featured 1st -chapter book, STARFIRE!

(Miracles at Mills Landing, Book 1)

Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. ~Galatians 6:2~

1st Chapter:

Nate Saylor slouched in the padded leather desk chair and scowled as a crimson banner emblazoned with the latest sport-news updates flashed across the bottom of the flat screen mounted to the wall above a row of shelves. Footage of yesterday’s playoff game—and his game-losing fumble—replayed over and over. An announcer’s muffled voice issued humiliating blow-by-blow commentary.

“Where did those reporters get their information?” The words scalded Nate’s throat as his gaze followed the dropped football and then the scathing words on the banner. He crossed his arms tight over his chest and flexed his fingers. “What they’re reporting is a bunch of hogwash—the farthest thing from the truth.”

His agent, Stan Moore, tossed a pen onto the cluttered oak desk and massaged his temples, exhaling loudly. “Once it’s in print, Nate, it’s true.” He reached for the remote and muted the offensive sound. “And this, my friend, is definitely in full-blown print.”

“So I see.” Nate crossed one leg over his knee and grimaced. His body was bruised and battered from yesterday’s assault. Not that it mattered to any of the fans. All anyone seemed to care about was what they deemed to be his flagrant errors, both on and off the field. “Can’t you contact someone at the news station and get those statements retracted?”

“Retracted?” Stan snorted. “Maybe, after I’ve cleaned up this mess.” He pulled a newspaper from the top shelf and shoved a stack of files aside before slapping it down on the desk. He jabbed the print with his index finger. “Nice headline, huh? And get a load of that photo.”

“Let me see that.” Nate gasped as he scanned the print beneath a snapshot of him sporting a pair of handcuffs while he was loaded into the backseat of a police cruiser. The bold-print, oversized font screamed at him.

Playoff disgrace, Nate Saylor, arrested for assault following devastating loss.

“That jerk at the restaurant deserved to get his clock cleaned.” Nate tossed the paper aside. “Besides, one dropped pass and I’m a disgrace?”

“You were in the end zone, and the pass did land right in your sweet spot.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose as he slowly shook his head. “And the touchdown would have launched the team straight to the Super Bowl.”

“Don’t rub it in. I’ve relived that moment I don’t know how many times during the past twenty-four hours.”

“I’ll bet. You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”

“How could I…with this hanging over my head?” He crumpled the paper. “It’s ludicrous.”

“Well, whatever we think now, the damage is done. There’s no point in rehashing it.” Stan took a roll of antacid tablets from his shirt pocket and popped one into his mouth. “Besides, you know how the media suffers from a love-hate relationship with the NFL, especially during playoff season.”

“As for the rest of it—what happened after the game—they’ve got it all wrong.” Could it get any worse? A flush of heat curled up Nate’s spine as his temper flashed. “They’re missing half the facts.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Stan chewed, swallowed, and slipped a second tablet into his mouth. “Should have bought stock in these.” He tucked the roll back into his pocket.

“You know it didn’t go down that way, Stan.” Nate leaned forward in the chair. “Off the field I don’t go around provoking people.”

“Of course, I know that.” Stan picked up the pen he’d tossed and jotted a note on the desk blotter. “But it doesn’t matter. Like I said, the damage is done.”

“Well, it matters to me.”

“Regardless…we have a mess to clean up. I got a call from Worldwide Sporting Goods. They’ve dropped your contract.”

“What?”

“That’s not all. By lunch, Pro Fitness did the same.”

Blood rushed through Nate’s ears as his pressure rose. “Can they do that?”

“You broke their image clause, Nate. They can do whatever they want.”

“I should call them and explain.” Nate reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “Once I tell them how it really went down—”

“No!” Stan lunged across the desk, toppling his foam coffee cup. Muddy brew splattered file folders. “Give me your phone.”

“But I can make them understand.”

“Understand what, Nate?” Stan grabbed Nate’s cell phone. “That the star running back for the Tennessee Titans had a meltdown after an embarrassing playoff loss and managed to get himself arrested?”

“I didn’t have a meltdown. I told you, I was—”

“Tell it to the judge, Nate.” Stan removed the battery from the phone and slipped it into one pants pocket. The case went into his other. Then he reached for a tissue and began to mop up the spill. “Take a breath before you dig a deeper hole.”

“It can’t get any deeper.”

“Oh, I assure you it can.” Stan lobbed the soiled tissue into the trash can.

“So, what am I supposed to do?”

“We did get a third phone call…one you might want to consider.”

“Tell me more.”

“Have you ever heard of a foundation called Moments for Miracles?”

“Nope.”

“Well, they’re interested in you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They grant wishes to critically ill children.”

Nate sat back in the chair, resting his hands across his knotted belly. “You mean, kids who are going to die?”

“Some of them—most of them—will.” Stan nodded. “But the rest…”

“I don’t think I can handle that.”

“You don’t have a choice, Nate. You need damage control, and this is just what the doctor ordered—no pun intended.” Stan shook his head. “Besides, doing this might lead to a breakthrough of some sort for you, which can only be a good thing. If you don’t let go of the past, it’s eventually going to consume you.”

“You know what I’ve been through, Stan, as far as that goes. This whole mess…well, you know where it started.”

“That’s my whole point, Nate.” He picked up the pen and twirled it in his fingers. “Yes, I know. I was there, remember?”

“Then, you should know better than anyone that I just can’t do what you’re asking.”

“Yes, you can do it.” Stan tossed the newspaper into Nate’s lap. “Go home, Nate, and keep your nose clean. I’ll contact the director of Moments for Miracles, pull some strings, and orchestrate a measure of damage control.”

“I can fight this battle without your meddling.”

“No, you can’t. You’re in too deep, Nate. Trust me on this.”

Nate tossed the newspaper back onto the desk and raked a hand through his hair. Could he trust Stan? The two had been friends for years before entering into an agent-athlete partnership. Nate’s gut roiled as the ESPN ticker tape continued to flash news of the previous night’s escapades. From the look of things, he didn’t have much of a choice. Right now, Stan was his lifeline. “OK, I’ll let you deal with it.”

“Good. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.” Stan slipped the newspaper back into the file drawer. “Pack a bag, Nate, and head back to Mill’s Landing. Relax and enjoy some down time, now that the season is over. Just promise me you’ll stay out of trouble.”

“I can manage that—if you keep the press away.”

“I’ll do my best.” Stan nodded. “In the meantime, why don’t you

catch up on a bit of reading?”

“What type of reading?”

“The type that will help screw your head back on straight.” Stan handed him a soft-cover book. “It’s a devotional. I have a copy of my own, and I’ve read it cover to cover. You should do the same.”

The words stabbed Nate. He had been caught up in the season, but this run of bad luck with the press was the wake-up call he needed. Maybe. He slipped the book into his jeans pocket. “Thanks.”

“I’ve got you covered.” Stan nodded. “Now, go home. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

****

Shayna Grady’s eyes filled with tears as she stepped into the Mill’s Landing Children’s Hospital hallway to listen to Dr. Garrison’s soft-spoken voice.

“Zac’s blood work is discouraging this go-round.” Dr. Garrison shook his grizzled head. “We’ll need to run some more tests, but it’s not very promising. I think Zac’s best bet is going to be a bone marrow transplant.”

“But Zac doesn’t have any siblings, and his father—“

“I understand. But there are other options. We’ll add him to the BMT registry immediately—as a priority candidate.” Shayna dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” Dr. Garrison scribbled a note on Zac’s chart, and then leveled his gaze to meet Shayna’s. “But at least it provides a measure of hope.”

“And what are the chances of finding a suitable match in time?”

“One in ten-to-twenty-thousand that a viable match for an allogeneic BMT will be found in time. Unfortunately, the transplantation of stem cells from someone other than Zac himself is a long shot, but if we want to bring Zac’s leukemia into remission, it’s our best option at this point.”

“No.” Shayna gasped, and the tears flooded over. Her voice was thick, and the words came with great difficulty. She glanced into the hospital room where Zac lay curled in the bed, clutching a teddy bear dressed in a signature blue Tennessee Titans jersey. His smooth head peeked above the starched, white sheet, and a Titan’s ball cap tumbled to the side of the pillow, exposing a dusting of spiky-red curls that were just beginning to grow back to cover his pale scalp. “Is there anything we can do to improve the odds?”

“Pray, Shayna…just pray.”

“I have been praying. I just…”

“There’s someone here to see you.” Dr. Garrison took her by the elbow and led her toward a row of vending machines at the end of the hall. Off to the side was a small, sunlit room where families could gather to share a quick meal or a respite from the stark hospital rooms. “She’s a volunteer from the Moments for Miracles Foundation.”

“Oh, yes. I took your advice and contacted her a few weeks ago.” Shayna’s stomach growled, and she realized it had been a full day since her last meal. She felt a bit lightheaded as she continued. She’d need to get something into her belly soon. “She’s probably here to follow up.”

“They don’t just grant children’s wishes, Shayna. Perhaps there’s something you’d like to have, as well.” It was more of a question than a statement.

“My wish—and prayer—is to see Zac get better and be fully healed.” She crossed her arms over her rumbling belly to calm the hunger-storm that surged. “Can this foundation find a donor for him?”

“Unfortunately, no. That’s not their purpose.” Dr. Garrison shook his head. “But what they can do is give Zac a little dose of happiness—grant a wish for something he’d truly like…something tangible. Laura Evans, the volunteer, will explain.”

Shayna glanced into the room to see a dark-haired woman seated at a small, round table. She sipped from a foam cup as she sorted through a file of papers. “I’m so glad she came, but this will have to be quick. I need to get back to Zac. He’s sure to wake soon, and he’ll be frightened if I’m not there.” Shayna fished in her jeans pocket for a handful of coins. She counted out seventy-five cents and slipped it into a vending machine, jabbing the buttons until a bag of pretzels dropped into the dispenser.

“I’ll be back to check on Zac this evening.” Dr. Garrison squeezed her shoulder gently. “Promise you’ll eat more than those pretzels, Shayna. You need to keep up your strength.”

“I’ll try.” Shayna grabbed the pretzel bag from the dispenser, thankful to know a pediatric oncologist who cared about so much more than vital signs and prescriptions. She nodded slightly and offered a halfhearted grin before turning away to enter the sunlit room.

As she approached the table, Laura Evans glanced up and smiled. “Mrs. Grady?”

“Shayna.”

“It’s so nice to meet you.” She extended a hand, her bright blue eyes full of compassion. “I’m Laura. May we talk for a bit?”

“That would be fine…but not for too long.” Shayna slipped into a chair and stretched the kinks from her back. Outside, sunlight danced across the river beyond the hospital parking lot. Shayna was thankful she lived so close to one of the best children’s hospitals in the nation—one that specialized in cancer treatments. Mill’s Landing was as good as it got, and with her house only a few miles away, at least she and Zac were afforded some sense of comfort and familiarity, despite his illness. “I have to get back to my son soon.”

 “Of course.” Laura nodded and flipped open a file folder, then took a pen from her purse. “Go ahead and eat your pretzels while we talk. I’m just here to fill you in on the steps we’re taking to grant Zac’s request to meet Nate Saylor.”

Be sure to LEAVE YOUR COMMENT below to be entered into the drawing for this week's giveaway.

Purchase MIRACLES AND MISCHIEF:

Amazon Kindle

Nook Book

Pelican Book Group (ePub or Adobe PDF)