Second Chance Christmas. Pamela Tracy

      It was the catch in the principal’s voice, the look in the police chief’s eyes and Mike Hamm’s hands folded in prayer that spurred Elise to say words she couldn’t possibly mean.

      No way could she return to Apache Creek to live.

      No way.

      “I’ll know by next week if my job in Two Mules has been eliminated. Are you willing to wait that long?”

      “That would be fine,” Principal Beecher said. “We can get busy with the paperwork.” The men talked a bit longer, about pay and hours and benefits.

      Elise stared at the photo of her and Cooper on the wall, remembering a past that warred with the present and colored the future.

Chapter Two

      After she’d shaken hands with the chief of police and principal for the second time, she followed Mike out the door and into the hallway. It was almost Thanksgiving, but backpacks still looked new, maybe because no one took books home; jeans still looked purposely old, maybe because kids bought them that way; and no one looked exhausted. The hallway pulsed with teenage angst and smelled like a combination cafeteria and gym with a hint of perfume.

      “You need to come home.” Mike led the way down the stairs to the exit and to the parking lot. Apache Creek High School hadn’t changed much since Elise had graduated, except maybe to be a bit smaller.

      When they got to her truck, Elise closed her eyes as she leaned against the hood. “Mike, I appreciate you reaching out to me, but—”

      “Think of it as a plea for help. You can make a difference, more than anyone I know.”

      “I don’t think I’m strong enough,” Elise whispered.

      “You’re stronger than any girl I know,” Mike said. “I know you don’t like talking about Cindy, but from the time you two were in kindergarten, you were a person that she always wanted to be with. You made a difference with her, just like you’ll do with the kids here at the high school. Believe me, I know how her death hurt you. But you couldn’t have prevented it. Don’t let it keep you from coming home. Apache Creek needs you.”

      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