The Second Chance Page 17

  “I will be the first one there. And you aren’t allowed to change your mind.”

  “I suppose I’ll keep you.” She gave a happy sigh.

  I loved all her happy noises. I wanted to spend the rest of my life making her smile. And today was the first of many surprises.

  “What are you doing, Carter?” She pulled me back from the gate up to the rambling, old craftsman house that needed a lot of work.

  “It’s a surprise.” I opened the gate and beckoned her to follow me inside.

  “What are you up to?” She took the steps to the porch with a wary look, like she thought the owner might jump out from the overgrown vines with a shotgun to tell us to get off their property.

  “Just go with it, Harps.” I pulled her into my arms. “Isn’t this a great porch? It wraps all the way around the side of the house.”

  “It’s beautiful. Or it would be with some TLC. Is it vacant?”

  “It’s been on the market for a while. Not many want to take on a fixer upper in this neighborhood. The houses are pretty old, but I think that gives them more character.”

  “Can we look inside?”

  “It’s open.” I gave her an impish grin.

  “You’re crazy! We can’t afford this house.” She peered through the grimy windows. “Anyone can see it’s a gem, but it would take buckets of money to restore it.”

  “Let’s just give it a look.” I opened the front door, and the afternoon sunlight lit up the stained-glass panels in the door.

  “Oh, it’s so pretty, Carter. I don’t want to fall in love with it.” She took a hesitant step inside. “But I’m dying to see it.” She quickly wandered from room to room, getting more and more excited.

  I followed her, feeding off her excitement. “I love these old houses that have the big living rooms and a den. I would totally make the den a nice big office. And it has a gorgeous kitchen and formal dining room.”

  “Yeah, for all those dinner parties we have because you’re such a good cook.” She shook her head, but her eyes were shining with laughter. She loved this house as much as I did.

  “There’s a master suite on the main level and three bedrooms upstairs. The basement is a wreck, but we can fix that.”

  “What are you talking about, you nut? We cannot buy this house. It would take everything we’ve got, plus a lot of what we don’t have. We can’t even afford the kind of wedding you want.”

  “It’s ours if we want it, Harps,” I said softly. “And I only wanted the expensive wedding because I thought you wanted it.”

  “Use more words Carter Ashford. Is there a money tree out back I don’t know about?” She peered through the double doors off the kitchen. “Oh, there’s an herb garden and a big overgrown yard that could be gorgeous. Is that a brick wall around the yard? We could get a dog!”

  “I’m not replacing the Ferrari.” I wasn’t even sorry about it.

  “No.” She turned furious eyes on me. “You love that car!”

  “I love you so much more, Harps.” I moved up behind her, wrapping my arms around her. “I’ve been thinking about this for months. Can’t you see it? We could build our life in this house. See those big oak trees?” I pointed across the yard. “There’s an old tree house up there we could fix up for the kids.”

  She leaned back against me with a sigh. “It would be wonderful, but I’m not making you give up that car. It’s not happening.”

  “If we lived here, I wouldn’t even need a car. We can both walk to work.”

  She gave a very un-Harper like snort of disgust.

  “I’m dead serious, Harper Chapman. I want a marriage with you. I don’t need a big wedding or a fancy car. But this house, with you and our family, I want it so bad I can hardly stand it.”

  “Can we even afford to fix it up after you buy it with your car money?”

  “Do you know how much a Ferrari costs? I got a lot of insurance money”

  “No, but it can’t be enough to buy and remodel this house.”

  “It’s enough for a sizable down payment.”

  “All right,” she said in a bored tone. “Show me the rest of the house.”

  “You mean it?” I pulled her into my arms, and I couldn’t stop the huge grin lighting my face.

  She wrapped her arms around my neck. “If the rest of the house is as wonderful as this floor, then I think we’re finally home, Carter Ashford.”

  Epilogue

  Leyla Priestly

  I will not freak out.

  I will not freak out.

  “Leyla Priestly does not know the meaning of the word quit,” I said the words to myself, but I wasn’t sure I believed them anymore.

  Even when I was barely keeping it together, I still did my job. And I did it well. But now, startling blue eyes shining from a dirty face haunted my dreams. I saw her in the papers. On the television screen. The single image that told her sad story.

  “Earth to Leyla?” Marcus snapped his fingers in front of my face.

  “What?” I shook my head to clear it of bad memories. Recent memories.

  “We’re nearly to the border. We have a meeting with the head of the detention center in El Paso this evening, but if you want to get some photographs before, you’ll probably see a lot more if we go on foot outside the city.”

  I nodded. “Let’s do that.”

  Marcus was my local guide. A reporter for the El Paso Times, and he was working on his own story about the conditions at the southern border of the United States.

  My stories had no words. Just photographs. Technically, I worked for the Boston Globe, but I was a photojournalist. I went where the international stories were happening, and more often than not, my photographs ended up in world-wide circulation far beyond the audience of the Boston Globe.

  With the hot Texas wind in my hair, I shouldn’t be reminded of the oppressive heat of the jungles I just left, but my mind wouldn’t let go of Sierra Leon.

  “I saw your photograph of that poor girl.” Marcus slowed his Jeep, pulling onto the side of the road. “Those eyes will haunt you.” He shook his head. “Do you know what happened to her?”

  “No.” My voice was a rasp in my throat, and my hands trembled as I reached for the door, desperate to get out of the car and away from any more questions about the nameless girl who was probably dead now.

  “We can walk down toward the river and get some test shots.” Marcus pointed toward the river basin of the Rio Grande. I could just make out the city of Juarez in the distance. Mexico. But that wasn’t what had my camera in my hand in an instant.

  It was the line of weary people heading toward the border. Nothing lay between them and asylum but the border patrol. I didn’t deal in politics or back any specific political beliefs. In my world, all that mattered were the people. And these people had suffered. I could see it in their eyes. The stress of what lay ahead of them, coupled with the exhaustion of the long trip behind them. If they would get to stay, or if they would be sent back. The hope of a life that finally seemed within their grasp.

  Several border patrol officers moved to intercept the nearest stragglers, waiting for the words every refugee knew crossing the border. ‘I seek asylum.’ They would be taken to the detention centers to await their fate in this country.

  Without a word, I crept down the embankment to get a closer look, Marcus trailing behind me. My camera snapped rapidly, capturing every moment as we made our way through the dry brush and hard-packed desert earth.

  That was when I saw him. A little boy, crying amongst the thistles and shrubbery. He was lost and frightened. And completely alone. He couldn’t be more than four or five years old.

  “Over here!” Marcus waved to the nearest border patrol as I captured the horrifying image of what migration to this country was like for the children.

  “Please be kind,” I begged as the patrolman neared the crying child with his hand stretched out in a soothing gesture.

  The officer bent down to the child’s leve
l, murmuring comforting words in Spanish. The boy in tattered clothes and flip flops crouched down in fear, sobbing his heart out. I could just make out his words. He was asking for his mother.

  My camera hummed as I got the image. All the others wouldn’t matter. I didn’t even need to see the picture to know it captured everything I wanted to say. The grief. The sacrifice and the hope. It was all there.

  But I couldn’t stomach the sight when the patrolman picked up the boy, tucked him into his arms and carried him away from everything he’d ever known.

  Tears rolled down my face as I watched him walk away to join an ever-growing crowd of children too young to understand what was happening. There were too many to count. Too many putting all their hopes into a single chance at a better life from the one they’d left behind. Who could blame them?

  A crowd had gathered as I worked. Marcus stood in the hot desert sun, speaking to a young couple with one child in their arms and another one clearly on the way.

  But all eyes were still on the crying child. His sobs cut right through me as he wailed for his mother. Heaven only knew where she was.

  “I can’t do this anymore.” My legs trembled, and I stumbled to my knees in the dirt. Closing my eyes, I saw her again. The girl I couldn’t save but was able to capture her story in a single moment before I fled for my life. Her haunting eyes were now accompanied by the boy’s cries.

  But it wasn’t just him anymore. I was sobbing too. A hand brushed my shoulder as I wiped at my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the tears and the angry sobs ripping from my throat.

  “Leyla.” Marcus crouched down beside me. “The suffering is hard to witness.”

  I shook my head. “It’s everywhere. I can’t get away from it.” The world was an ugly place, and I’d made it my life’s work to shed light into the darkest corners. It was my job, and I was good at it, but I was falling apart.

  “We’ll find out what happens to him.” Marcus patted my back awkwardly.

  It wouldn’t do any good. The poor child was probably going to fall somewhere in the cracks of the system. My hands clutched my camera, my knuckles turning white with the intensity of my grip.

  I wanted to break something.

  I had to get this helpless feeling out or I was going to burst.

  “Leyla, no!” Marcus reached for me, but I scrambled out of his way, smashing my camera on the ground, reveling in the satisfying crunch as it came apart in my hands. Heedless of the witnesses, I bashed it against the rocky ground until it lay scattered in a dozen pieces and my hand dripped blood on the dry, cracked ground.

  Just like my soul.

  “Is she here, Maddie?”

  I winced at my boss’s tone. This was not going to be a fun meeting.

  “Yes, sir, she’s waiting for you now.”

  “Send her in.”

  I stood, smoothing a hand over my perfectly tailored pants. I looked the part of the award-winning photojournalist for the Boston Globe. I just wondered how long that title was going to be mine.

  Maddie peeked around the corner to where I stood in the small waiting room. “He’s ready for you, dear.”

  I forced a smile, hating the look of pity I saw on her face. Everyone wore that same face when they looked at me lately. I followed Maddie to the door and lifted my chin as I stepped into my boss’s office. Hopefully he wasn’t about to fire me.

  “Leyla.” Hal nodded, gesturing for me to sit in the sleek leather chair in front of his desk.

  “Harold.” I nodded back, sitting at ease in the chair. I couldn’t show my fear or the stress I was under. He’d already made me ride a desk for more than a week since my return from the border. Any more time in my studio apartment and I was going to lose my mind.

  “How are you feeling?” He sat back, his hands steepled under his chin. The look of pity firmly in place.

  “Knock it off, Hal. I had a freak out. I’m better now.” I shrugged. “You can’t do this job if you’re made of glass. And I don’t think either of us thinks I’m going to shatter.”

  “I wouldn’t have sent you to the border if I thought it was going to trigger you.”

  “It should have been an easy shot. It just hit me where it hurt, you know? But I’m fine. We both know the best thing I can do right now is get back out there.”

  “Is it?” He leaned forward.

  “Are you firing me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’m not riding a desk anymore. You know I’m no good at it.”

  “I’ll give you a choice.” He slid a folder toward me, and my hands itched to pick it up. It was an assignment. Just what I needed. But as I reached for it, something told me I wasn’t going to like it.

  I flipped through the dossier full of pictures of wild horses and sandy beaches. Some write up on the location. I closed the folder and slid it back to him. “I don’t do puff pieces.”

  “Then, you can take an extended leave of absence. Go on a vacation, see your family. Get some R and R. See a therapist if you need to.”

  “What’s behind door number three?” I folded my arms over my chest as if to protect myself.

  “There is no door number three.”

  I snatched the folder up. “Where is this place?”

  “Maine.”

  “Come on, Hal. Send me to Afghanistan to cover women’s rights issues. Or to Australia to cover the long-term effects of the brush fires. Anything but this … whatever this is.”

  “The Corolla Wild Horse Sanctuary.” Hal chuckled. “It’s a feel good piece. You’ll hate it. But it’ll give you the downtime I know you’ll never take otherwise.”

  “You want me to photograph wild horses? Seriously?”

  “It’s an interesting story. I came across a local article about the place up in Superiore Bay. The sanctuary is on an island reserve and only one man oversees the place.”

  “Fine. Let’s say I go there and get the shot. When I’m done, you’re going to give me a real assignment, right?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “I can get the shot in a day.”

  “Humor me. It’s a beautiful place. And I have a hunch if you do a little digging, you’ll find a bigger story. Something more interesting than what appears on the surface.”

  “Superior Bay.” I sighed. “Just great.”

  * * *

  Want to see how Leyla’s adventure into Superiore Bay goes? Get The Island Sanctuary here and see what happens when the feisty reporter meets the reclusive Conrad Ashford.

  The Island Sanctuary

  They're strangers…

  * * *

  …nothing more.

  * * *

  Leyla Priestly observes life rather than participating in it. As an award-winning photo journalist, she travels the world, seeing many things others refuse to acknowledge. It's her dream, to bring light to darkness and actually make a difference.

  But it comes at a cost.

  When a particularly heartbreaking mission leaves her an emotional wreck, her boss orders her to either take time off or accept an easy assignment.

  A puff piece. Leyla doesn't do puff pieces. Or vacations. So she chooses the job and finds herself headed to a small coastal town where the people are too friendly—a wee bit nosey—and the rugged, reclusive veterinarians far too good looking.

  Conrad Ashford, the wayward son of the wealthy Ashford family, has forsaken everything expected of him to run the Corolla Wild Horse Sanctuary situated on a small island across the bay.

  And he is her assignment.

  Or rather, his horses are.

  As Leyla spends time at the sanctuary, despite Conrad's less than warm welcome, she realizes the horses might not be the real story behind this island oasis.

  Because here is a man who hides his heart deep within the wild sandy shores, and she's determined to reveal it in the images she captures.

  Leyla has a life in the city and a difficult job she's eager to get back to. But she might learn that sometimes one can make the b
iggest difference right where they are.

  * * *

  Want to see how Leyla’s adventure into Superiore Bay goes? Get The Island Sanctuary here and see what happens when the feisty reporter meets the reclusive Conrad Ashford.

  About Ann Maree

  Ann Maree Craven is an Amazon bestselling author of Young Adult Contemporary Fiction and YA Fantasy (her Fantasy fans will know her as Melissa A. Craven). Her books focus on strong female protagonists who aren’t always perfect, but they find their inner strength along the way. Ann Maree’s novels will appeal to audiences of all ages and fans of almost any genre. She believes in stories that make you think and she loves playing with foreshadowing, leaving clues and hints for the careful reader.

  Ann Maree draws inspiration from her background in architecture and interior design to help her with the small details in world building and scene settings. (Her degree in fine art also comes in handy.) She is a diehard introvert with a wicked sense of humor and a tendency for hermit-like behavior. (Seriously, she gets cranky if she has to put on anything other than yoga pants and t-shirts!)

  Ann Maree enjoys editing almost as much as she enjoys writing, which makes her an absolute weirdo among her peers. Her favorite pastime is sitting on her porch when the weather is nice with her two dogs, Fynlee and Nahla, reading from her massive TBR pile and dreaming up new stories.

  Visit me at Melissaacraven.com for more information about the series and discover exclusive content.

  Want to see more books by Ann Maree Craven? You can find them here.

  About Michelle

  Michelle MacQueen is a USA Today bestselling author of love. Yes, love. Whether it be YA romance, NA romance, or fantasy romance (Under M. Lynn), she loves to make readers swoon.

  The great loves of her life to this point are two tiny blond creatures who call her “aunt” and proclaim her books to be “boring books” for their lack of pictures. Yet, somehow, she still manages to love them more than chocolate.