Winnie Griggs - Second Chance Hero

“Well, I won’t, so let’s hear no more about it.” Hazel patted a few stray hairs back in place before moving away from the mirror. “And don’t think it’s because I’m feeling altruistic. I’m getting something out of it, too. My sales have definitely gone up since your hats went on display next to my dresses.”

Verity had been thinking lately that she’d like to open a millinery shop of her own one day, and Hazel’s words gave her an added nudge in that direction. Despite Uncle Grover’s and Aunt Betty’s assertions that they liked having her and Joy stay with them, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live on their charity forever. It had been fifteen months since that awful day Arthur was killed. It was time for her to move on with her life, to decide what kind of future she wanted for herself and Joy.

If she could start her own business and make a go of it, she might just be able to afford to have a home of her own again. But there was so much risk involved in such an undertaking, risks she wasn’t sure she could afford to take. It definitely wasn’t a step to take lightly. For one thing she’d have to save up more money before she could even get started. And what if she failed? Besides, the one time she’d mentioned it to Uncle Grover, he’d counseled her about all the pitfalls she could face and she’d gotten the impression he didn’t think it was something she should even attempt.

Still, every time she allowed herself to dream about the future she wanted for herself and Joy, the yearning to take more control of her life grew.

“Have you heard about the plans for the Founders’ Day celebration?”

Verity pushed away her daydreams and focused on Hazel’s question. “You mean there’s going to be more to it than the town picnic this year?”

“A lot more. Ever since Mayor Sanders realized this is the seventy-fifth anniversary of Turnabout’s founding, he’s wanted to do something special, which to him means something bigger and flashier.”

That was Mayor Sanders, all right. Some things about this town never changed.

“He’s talking about a grand festival,” Hazel continued, “sort of like a county fair, with games, contests, food, performances. He’s even talking about bringing in a traveling circus or an acting troupe.”

Verity listened with only half an ear as Hazel recounted the discussion from yesterday’s town council meeting. Instead, her thoughts drifted back to Mr. Cooper.

Hazel was wrong. She wasn’t taken with the man. Well, not exactly. She was merely curious about him. When she looked into his intense eyes, she still got the sense of something controlled but dangerous. Yet seeing him with that little lapdog had contradicted that impression. Showing kindness to a small animal and speaking of putting down roots seemed to indicate a man who was compassionate and responsible.

Which was the real man? Or was it possible he could be a combination of both?

The sound of a dog barking outside made her think again of the small dog itself. Beans—what a whimsical name for the animal.

Perhaps someday—there was that nebulous someday again—if she could find a similar lapdog, one that she knew was well behaved, she could get it for Joy.

Verity glanced over her shoulder to check on her daughter again, but neither the five-year-old nor the cat was in the same spot any longer. She turned fully around. “Joy?” Where had the girl gotten off to?

Hazel paused midsentence and glanced quickly around the shop. “She probably followed Buttons to one of his hiding places. Check behind the counter.”

“Joy!” Verity said the name louder this time, using her no-nonsense, answer-me-now voice. She knew it was probably an overreaction, but she couldn’t help herself. Her late husband’s violent death had given her a terrible lesson on how tragedy could strike in the blink of an eye. And she’d found herself wanting to hold tighter and tighter to her daughter ever since.

When there was still no response, Verity’s focus sharpened. If Joy was just behind the counter, why wasn’t she answering? “Joy, this isn’t a game. Come out this minute.”

Still no answer. Could she have gone upstairs? Verity had half turned in that direction when Hazel spoke up, halting her in her tracks.

“She’s out on the sidewalk.”

Verity spun around and headed for the door. Why hadn’t she kept a closer eye on Joy?

A warning shout sounded just as she stepped outside, closely followed by a gasp from Hazel.

She watched in horror as her daughter, intent on chasing Buttons, darted in front of an oncoming wagon. Verity raced forward screaming Joy’s name. The child turned, then froze as she saw the horse bearing down on her.

Verity stumbled and realized with shattering clarity that she would never reach Joy in time.

Chapter Three

For an agonizing heartbeat, as the wagon bore down on her daughter, time froze. Verity felt every irregularity in the pebble that bit into her palm, could taste the tang of blood from where she’d bit the inside of her cheek when she fell to the ground, could see the dust motes hanging in the air before her.

Please, Jesus. Please, Jesus. Please, Jesus.

She wasn’t sure whether she was uttering the frantic prayer aloud or if it was just shrieking through her thoughts.

From somewhere a woman screamed, but all sounds, save for the wagon’s relentless rumbling progress, seemed to come from a great distance.

Verity spotted the moment the wagon driver spied Joy and tried to turn his horses.

And still Joy didn’t move.

Then, from out of nowhere, Mr. Cooper shot past her, and time sped up with a whoosh. He dived toward Joy, reaching her a heart-stopping split second before the horse’s hooves would have trampled the child, and pushing her out of the way.

Without remembering having moved, Verity was suddenly kneeling in the road with her weeping daughter clutched tightly against her. Her heart thudded painfully against her chest and her breath came in near gasps. She’d come so close to losing her precious baby. She could still feel the stab of keening desolation that pierced her the moment she’d realized she couldn’t get to Joy in time. This time the prayer she sent up was one of thanksgiving.

“Mama, you’re squeezing too tight.” Joy’s querulous complaint ended on a hiccup.

Verity had to fight down the hysterical bubble of laughter that wanted to leap from her throat. Instead she loosened her hold and pushed back just enough to examine her daughter, brushing aside a tendril of Joy’s hair with fingers that trembled uncontrollably. “Don’t you ever scare Mommy like that again.”

Joy shook her head, then hiccupped again as her tears stopped.

Verity was vaguely aware that Hazel stood at her elbow and that a crowd had gathered, but her attention remained focused on reassuring herself that Joy really was okay.

Fortunately, her daughter appeared more scared and confused than hurt. The stains and smears on her pinafore were dirt, not blood.

“I’m so sorry.”

Verity looked up into the pale, worried face of Nestor James, the wagon driver.

“Please tell me your little girl’s okay,” he continued as he crushed his hat in his hands. “I didn’t see her ’til I was practically on top of her.”

“It’s not your fault, Mr. James.” Though her voice was still shaky, now that Verity knew Joy was okay she could be reasonable. “I should have kept closer watch over her. And it appears Joy isn’t hurt—just shaken up. Thanks to Mr. Cooper.”

She looked around for the man who’d saved her daughter.

And only then realized he hadn’t fared as well as Joy.

He was sitting up, his movements slow and stiff. There was a darkening bruise on his forehead, he held his left arm stiffly and his sleeve was ripped and stained with blood and dirt.