Chance the Past (Rock Ridge Hollow Book 1)

Book summary

Mikayla Odell returns to Rock Ridge Hollow after a decade, seeking to rekindle the connection she shared with Jeb and Grey McMasters on one unforgettable night. But time has changed everything, and second chances require courage and trust. Chance the Past is a heartfelt tale of love, redemption, and finding the way back.

Excerpt from Chance the Past (Rock Ridge Hollow Book 1)

Jeb sat out on the porch, drinking a beer and watching the night sky. He usually experienced some semblance of peace out here in the early evening. Cicadas chirruped their evening song, and the horses out in the pasture whinnied quietly to one another as they made their way from one tasty patch of grass to the next.

Tonight, peace proved elusive.

Mikayla Odell. Hell. He hadn’t heard that name in… what? It must be ten years. She was the last woman he and—

Jeb lifted the beer to his lips, taking a long swig and mentally shaking himself. No point dredging up the past, it was water under the bridge. Mikayla was part of his history – ancient history. He’d lived a lifetime since then, his choices bringing him to this point. Reluctantly, his gaze lowered to his denim-clad legs. He preferred this time of the day, when his useless limbs were gradually disappearing in the darkening shadows. For the thousandth time since he returned from Kabul eight months ago, he focused on his thighs… his calves… his ankles… his toes. Desperate to feel something – anything – which might suggest he’d get the use of his legs back.

Nothing. Not a thing. Not a twinge, not a spasm – nothing like what the doctors said would happen if he was going to get sensation back. The memory of Crystal breaking up with him, the way she’d avoided his gaze – even now, after months, it cut him to the core.

“Need another beer?” Grey pushed out past the screen door, two longnecks dangling between his fingers.

Jeb nodded, drained the last of his beer and put the empty bottle down beside the wheelchair.

Grey handed him a fresh drink and then leaned against the porch rail. They both sipped their drinks, Jeb focused on the blaze of stars across the horizon, Grey watching the flickering television screen visible through the living room window.

“Anything in particular you need me to do tomorrow?” Grey asked.

“We need to get ahold of Newt Thornton, have a chat about borrowing his stallion. Those mares’ll be ready in a couple of weeks, and you know what Newt’s like about negotiating deals.”

Grey nodded. “I’m guessing you’ll handle that phone call?”

Jeb nodded, slugging back a mouthful of the bitter ale. “About the only useful thing I can do nowadays.” He tried, and failed, to keep the bitterness from coloring his tone.

Grey straightened up, resting his drink on the railing. “Y’know, I’ve still got the details about those saddles and the—”

Jeb shook his head. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Grey inhaled sharply, then let the air slowly whoosh out between his lips. “Don’t you think it’s time to start whittling away at that chip on your shoulder?”

Jeb remained stubbornly mute. Yeah, he was struggling with what he’d lost, but hell, who wouldn’t? He’d had all the therapy he could stomach, lost hope of living like a normal man. He was surviving from day to day, doing what he could, trying to avoid thinking about what he couldn’t.

But sometimes he couldn’t avoid the fierce longing, the desire to regain what he’d lost. Hell, he’d love nothing better than getting into the saddle, settle on Gandry’s back and ride across the land the way he did before he went overseas. Before the IED which took the lives of four of his team and the use of his legs.

Shit. He’d been lucky, all things considered, and he tried to remember that. He’d come home. He was sitting on his ranch in Montana, enjoying a beer at the end of the day. He hadn’t died out there in that hot, dry hellhole.

He was alive.

His attention reverted to Grey, who’d leaned forward and was waving a hand in front of Jeb’s face. “What?” he snapped.

“You were miles away,” Grey remarked.

“I was tuning out your lecture,” Jeb grumbled. “Unless you wanna talk about what needs doing tomorrow, you might as well go watch TV.”

Grey drained his beer, taking his time before he responded. Jeb didn’t like it – usually it meant Grey had something on his mind, something he wanted to talk about, but was hesitating because he didn’t know how he would react.

Jeb couldn’t blame him. He’d been difficult to live with since he got home, but it didn’t make him any more comfortable waiting for Grey to break the protracted silence. “Spit it out,” he finally demanded. “You’ve obviously got something on your mind.”

“Mikayla. I’m thinkin’ about heading into town to see her. Thought I’d be neighborly, welcome her back to Rock Ridge.”

Jeb was stunned and it took nearly a full minute to respond. When he did, he couldn’t keep disbelief from coloring his reaction. “You’re kidding, right? You can’t possibly believe that’s a good idea?”

Grey shrugged, seemingly unaffected by Jeb’s derision. “A decade’s a long time.”

“Don’t you remember? She left! Skipped town like a bat out of hell,” Jeb growled. “What makes you think she’d have anything to say to you? To me?”

“Aren’t you at least curious?” Grey asked, tapping his thumb against the empty bottle. “Wouldn’t you like to see her again, discover what brings her home now?”

Jeb unlocked the brakes on the wheelchair, knocking over the empty beer bottle in his haste but he was too agitated to care and it rolled noisily across the wooden porch. “No, Grey, I don’t want to see her, and I’m not fucking interested in why she’s come back. Mikayla Odell means nothing to me. G’night.” Jeb yanked open the screen door, guiding the wheelchair inside in a smooth, well-practiced maneuver and the door slammed soundly behind him. 

“Mikayla? Is that you? Mikayla Odell? I’ll be damned.”

Mikayla turned towards the voice, unsurprised she was being approached by yet another Rock Ridge resident. She’d arrived in town five days ago, started work three days’ past, and it seemed she’d spent every minute since catching up with old acquaintances. She hadn’t anticipated her return would generate quite so much interest and it was beginning to seem like she’d never left.

She greeted Phil Sorenson with a warm smile. “Hi, Mr. Sorenson. It’s nice to see you again.”

The weather-beaten cattle rancher lifted his hat, his pale blue eyes sparkling in the waning light outside the hospital. “I think you’re old enough to call me Phil, young lady. You must be what? At least twenty-five or so by now.”

Mikayla grinned. “Actually, I’ll be twenty-nine in June.”

Phil’s bushy white eyebrows lifted. “Is that right? Time sure does fly, don’t it? Seems only a few years back I was helping your dad to teach you to change the oil in that old car of yours. You still driving the Taurus?”

Mikayla smiled. Rock Ridge Hollow was a typical small town and around here things didn’t change much from one year to the next. From decade to decade, in fact. It might have been ten years since Mikayla left but to the locals it might as well have been last week when she packed up her belongings and left town. “I haven’t got the Taurus now, I traded it in a couple of years back.” Mikayla pressed the button on the key fob and the indicators on her red Camaro flashed.

The flash of lights caught Phil’s attention and he whistled. “Phewee, girl. Nice wheels.”

“Thank you.” Mikayla adjusted the gym bag hanging from her shoulder. She’d started work at six this morning and a protracted delivery had resulted in an emergency caesarean, so it was after seven before she’d managed to get away. All she wanted now was to go home, grab a bite to eat and snatch a few hours of sleep before she returned in the morning for another early start. Even so, it would be polite to enquire why Phil Sorenson was visiting the community hospital in the early evening. “Visiting someone, Mr.— Phil?” The word didn’t slip easily from her tongue after years of using the formal salutation.

The older man’s lips tugged downwards, and he pulled the hat from his head, squashing it against his chest. “My Roberta… she’s—” He stopped abruptly, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed heavily. “Well, she was diagnosed with cancer a week or so ago. Breast cancer.”

Mikayla’s face crumpled in sympathy, and she placed a reassuring hand on the older man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. Has she had surgery?”

Phil nodded. “She had a…” he hesitated. “Damn it, I’m not good with the words the doctors’ use.”

“Did they remove the lump?” Mikayla questioned gently. “Or her breast?”

The expression on Phil’s face revealed the answer and Mikayla wrapped him in a comforting hug. When she stepped back, she carefully averted her gaze from Phil’s tear-filled eyes. “I’ll go and visit Mrs. Sorenson in the morning, see how she’s doing.”

Phil perked up. “I think she’d like that, thank you.”

With a last goodbye, Mikayla watched Phil hurry towards the hospital doors before she slipped into her car for the short drive home. The trip from the hospital to the apartment she was sharing with Holly took less than seven minutes, but at the end of a thirteen hour shift the last thing she wanted to do was walk.

Rolling down the window, Mikayla sniffed the breeze appreciatively. After five years in Chicago earning her nursing degree and specializing as a midwife, and a further five years living in Seattle, the crisp, fresh air of Montana was a soothing balm to her senses at the end of the day. A hint of lily of the valley hung in the breeze; the sweet scent reminding her of childhood summers.

She suspected she’d chosen the perfect time to return to her roots, with most of summer and a full three months of fall to acclimatize before she’d deal with the harsh Montana winter. It was a long time since she’d experienced blizzards and heavy snowfall and she hoped the timeframe meant she’d ease into the worst of the weather gradually.

Turning out of Culpepper, she drove along the wide expanse of Liberty Street, passing deserted shopfronts. The only places still showing signs of life were the town’s three bars. Loco’s on the corner of Liberty and Garton, was a double storied narrow clapboard building built in the late nineteenth century and it sported a bar and seating downstairs and pool tables on the second floor. Hannigan’s was situated smack-bang in the center of town, in what had been the town’s produce store back in the day, but the current owner had completed extensive renovations and while the exterior remained faithful to its elaborate nineteenth century design with a sweeping verandah across the frontage, the interior was modern with an abundance of neon lighting and sleek leather seating.

The third bar, The Tumbleweed, sat on the corner of Liberty and Oakley, a modern single-story building with a Moose Mountain rock facade in tones of warm honey and tan. It’s ornately decorated hanging sign advertised boutique ciders and ales produced on the premises. Mikayla took the left turn by The Tumbleweed and drove down Oakley Street to Rock Ridge Hollow’s single apartment complex.

Pulling into the parking lot Mikayla selected an empty slot and turned off the ignition, surveying her surroundings for a few seconds and grateful to be home after a long day. Not that she thought of it as home yet; after five days in town it was still surreal, but so far, she hadn’t experienced any misgivings over her decision to return.