Second Chance Christmas

She’d successfully blocked the request to move back home a hundred times the last ten years. She had great reasons, too. The fact that maybe she could have prevented Cindy’s death being the main roadblock. She’d always thought she’d come back someday—a far off someday when she wasn’t weighed down by guilt; when she’d helped enough teens to feel like she’d made amends for not being there for her friend. That “someday” hadn’t come yet.

“In many ways,” Mike continued, “you’re an answer to our prayers.”

She’d had a hard time praying lately, for years really. Early on, right after Cindy’s funeral, Elise had prayed for forgiveness. It hadn’t, in her opinion, come. Maybe she didn’t deserve it.

She hadn’t done enough to help Cindy, hadn’t reacted fast enough to save her. Now, though, she was saving others. Just last month she’d found a local rancher in Two Mules who was willing to let kids come to his place and take riding lessons. Her goal was to get them into competitions, give them something to aim for. She was going to train them the way her father had trained her. She’d show them one walk, trot, canter at a time that they were important and they could shape their future, by taking charge of it.

When she didn’t say anything, he implored, “We sure need some help.”

Apache Creek needs you.

“The people of Two Mules need me, too,” she mentioned casually.

“I hear,” Mike said, “that the natural gas pipeline has been completed. You know what the Bible says, in Proverbs.”

Trust Mike to have a scripture.

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.”

Elise frowned. How did he do that? Just pull a scripture from memory, one that was impossible to argue with. And it just figured he knew about the change in the economy. Two Mules, when she’d started working there, had enough money and cases to keep three social workers busy. Now that the pipeline workers and their families were moving on, Two Mules’s newly decreased budget barely had funds for two social workers although it still had a client list that called for four.

Fewer people did not equate to less need.

But the budget would win.

If Elise were let go, her coworkers could keep their jobs. Both were natives of Two Mules. Both had families: kids in school and grandparents to care for. Both were good at their jobs, dedicated, but neither focused on the needs of teens. They were mostly dealing with parolees, destitute families, and self-help programs.

Everything she’d worked for, finally coming to fruition this last year, could fade to nothingness. Even if she went back weekly to visit, would it be enough?

“Sometimes,” Mike said gently, “you’re most needed in the place that defined you.”

He, she knew, felt that way. Ten years ago, he’d been finishing med school. The only one from his family of ten kids to go to college. She’d been a high school senior talking to colleges about a rodeo scholarship. Cooper was doing the exact same thing.

Then Cindy, Mike’s little sister and Elise’s best friend, died in a car crash caused by Cindy’s drunken boyfriend.

Mike had transferred to a Bible college.

Elise had changed her dreams.

* * *

A royal blue truck with the Lost Dutchman Ranch logo drove by AJ’s Outfitters, slowed down, and then sped up. Cooper Smith stopped listening to the sales pitch coming from his cell phone and watched the truck. He wondered if it were Jacob Hubrecht wanting to stop by and see how Garrett was getting along, if this were a good time.

There was no such thing as a good time anymore. His mother had had a hard time rousing herself from bed to come in this morning to watch the store while Cooper was out looking for his brother.

Luckily, just an hour into the search, the school had called. They were handling it. Garrett wasn’t getting suspended. The vice-principal used words like intervention and group meetings during the phone call, but he hadn’t been willing to share anything concrete about the school’s disciplinary plans. Cooper wasn’t the parent and privacy laws were more stringent than during Cooper’s tenure at Apache Creek High School.

There’d be a parent meeting next week. His mom needed to call the man back. He hoped she’d feel up to it.

He turned his attention back to the phone. “Really?” Cooper said. “You do realize that I’m located in Apache Creek, Arizona. We do have tourists, but honestly we cater to a more serious crowd.”

He truly questioned the knowledge of this particular supplier who had called with an offer.

A lame offer.

“Keep in mind,” the supplier said, “tourists like to take souvenirs back, and they want something affordable and easy to transport.”

“I just don’t think practice panning gravel is something that will go over well with my clients.” Cooper’s biggest complaint about being a storekeeper, aside from it taking time away from his being a guide, was dealing with frivolous details. “No, thanks.”

Before the man could continue, Cooper ended the call. Outdoors he could see the shrubs, cacti and an occasional Joshua tree or two that peppered the landscape. In the distance were the Superstition Mountains, looking regal and daring and glistening from the rain.

It seldom rained in November. But this was proving to be the wettest that Cooper could remember. The newspaper claimed Apache Creek was going through a ten-year cycle.

Cooper wanted to be outdoors!

His mother came from the back, slowly opening and closing the fingers of her right hand. “Who was that on the phone?”

He hadn’t told her about the call from school. He knew he’d have to eventually—she still needed to set up that parent meeting. But something about the pinched look on her face made him want to protect her for a little while longer. “Just a salesman trying to convince me we needed something we didn’t need. Did you hurt your hand?”

“Just some pain in the joints. I dropped a box I was trying to put away.”

His mother’s hands did look a little swollen and red. She’d been complaining that they felt stiff.

“You need to go to the doctor, Mom. Figure out what’s going on.”

“It’s just age. Speaking of which, I think I’ll go home and lie down for a while. We’re not busy.”

He watched as she headed out of the store and got in her car. She’d come in thirty minutes after he’d reopened the store.

“Excuse me, do you have a book that’s like a biography of someone who spent time mining in the Superstition Mountains?” It wasn’t the first time Cooper had heard this request. The man wanted to read about Jacob Waltz, the Lost Dutchman, who’d started the whole “There’s a treasure in them hills” mentality.

“Not really.”

The customer’s face fell. He spent a few minutes going through the books Cooper did have on display and then left, but not before saying, “You need to put out some Christmas decorations or something.”

Christmas?

Every time the holiday knocked on Cooper’s mind, he refused to open the door. Too busy.

Looking around the shop, he realized the customer was right. Cooper needed to start putting out his yuletide decorations. Dad had always claimed that Santa was a gold panner. He’d needed money to fund his shop and pay the elves, right? And, the North Pole had to have gold. It was in Alaska! Now that would be a reality show. Santa and his elves maneuvering an excavator and suffering make-or-break decisions.

Yes, Thanksgiving might be next week, but turkeys didn’t help sales much. But he knew that Christmas trumped every holiday, and the store needed to increase sales so that Cooper’s first year as co-owner wasn’t his last.

Somehow, he also needed to get Garrett through high school and into college. And then when he’d done all that, maybe he’d cure cancer or institute world peace. Those tasks couldn’t seem any more difficult than the ones ahead of him now.

Putting his phone in his shirt pocket, Cooper went back to work. He’d had goals for today before Garrett interrupted them. He started counting his supply of metal detectors. His most expensive kit was over two thousand; his cheapest came in at two hundred. That was on sale.

He hadn’t sold one in over two weeks. How many customers had he missed while out looking for Garrett?