Mischief in Miracle Cove Read online

  Mischief in Miracle Cove

  Mary Manners

  Copyright 2019

  Mary Manners

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Art by German Creative

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Warning: No part of this book may be copied, scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means without the express, written permission of the author. Unauthorized duplication and/or distribution is illegal. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by Sweet Dreams Publications

  First Edition, 2019

  Published in the United States of America

  Contact information:

  Mary Manners: [email protected]

  Scripture taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® NIV®

  Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by International Bible Society®. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  ~ Dedication ~

  To Tim Tebow...for your courage, faith, and invincible work ethic. You are an inspiration to many, including me.

  ~ Mischief in Miracle Cove ~

  HER LOVE IS A PICK-SIX TO HIS HEART…

  NFL running back Jake Taylor is a star in his own universe…until a brush with the law tarnishes his career. When his agent suggests he volunteer with Moments for Miracles, a charity that grants wishes to kids with life-threatening illnesses, Jake agrees with a half-hearted shrug, never expecting to be contacted. As the offseason begins, he retires to the outskirts of Miracle Cove, secluded from the press and fans that are so quick to judge.

  Delaney Coleman is a single mom struggling to stay afloat financially while tending to the needs of her son, Tate, who’s battling childhood leukemia. A bone marrow transplant is Tate's only hope for survival, but a match has yet to be found. While they wait, Delaney plans to see Tate’s special wish to spend a day with his hero—NFL running back Jake Taylor—is granted. Though Delaney has reservations about pairing her son with the player who’s collected more than his fair share of negative headlines, she writes to the Moments for Miracles Foundation, pleading for their help.

  Delaney’s letter—and her love for her son—are a pick-six to Jake’s heart. He finds himself longing for more, but is it too late to grant Tate’s wish…and prove to Delaney there’s much more to him than newspaper headlines reveal?

  ~ Key Verse ~

  Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.

  ~Galatians 6:2~

  Chapter 1

  JAKE TAYLOR SLOUCHED IN THE padded leather desk chair and scowled as a crimson banner emblazoned with the latest sport-news updates flashed across the bottom of the flat screen mounted to the wall above a row of shelves. Footage of yesterday’s playoff game—and his game-losing fumble—replayed over and over. An announcer’s muffled voice issued humiliating blow-by-blow commentary.

  “Where did those reporters get their information?” The words scalded Jake’s throat as his gaze followed the dropped football and then the scathing words on the tickertape scrolling across the screen. He crossed his arms tight over his chest and flexed his fingers. “What they’re reporting is a bunch of hogwash—the farthest thing from the truth.”

  His agent, Stan Moore, tossed a pen onto the cluttered oak desk and massaged his temples, exhaling loudly. “You know as well as I do how sports reporting goes. Once the words are in print, Jake, they’re true.” He reached for the remote and muted the offensive sound. “And this, my friend, is definitely in full-blown print.”

  “So I see.” Jake crossed one leg over his knee and grimaced. His body was bruised and battered from yesterday’s assault. Not that it mattered to any of the fans. All anyone seemed to care about was what they deemed to be his flagrant errors, both on and off the field. “Can’t you contact someone at the news station and get the reporter’s statements retracted?”

  “Retracted?” Stan snorted. “Maybe we’ll have a shot at it, after I’ve cleaned up this mess.” He pulled a newspaper from the top shelf and shoved a stack of files aside before slapping it down on the desk. He jabbed the print with his index finger. “Nice headline, huh? And get a load of that photo.”

  “Let me see that.” Jake gasped as he scanned the print beneath a snapshot of him sporting a pair of handcuffs while he was loaded into the backseat of a police cruiser. The bolded, oversized font screamed at him.

  Playoff disgrace Jake Taylor arrested for assault following devastating loss.

  “That jerk at the restaurant deserved to get his clock cleaned.” Jake tossed the paper aside. “Besides, a single dropped pass during the course of the game and suddenly I’m a disgrace?”

  “You were in the end zone, and the pass landed right in your sweet spot.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose as he slowly shook his head. “And the touchdown would have launched the team straight to the Super Bowl.”

  “Don’t rub it in. I’ve relived that moment a zillion-and-two times during the past twenty-four hours.”

  “I’ll bet. You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”

  “How could I, with this hanging over my head?” He crumpled the paper and lobbed it into the trash can. “It’s ludicrous.”

  “Well, whatever we think now, the damage is done. There’s no point in rehashing it.” Stan took a roll of antacid tablets from his shirt pocket and popped one into his mouth. “Besides, you know how the media suffers from a love-hate relationship with the NFL, especially during playoff season.”

  “As for the rest of it—what happened after the game—they’ve got it all wrong.” Could the misunderstanding get any worse? A flush of heat curled up Jake’s spine as his temper flashed. “They’ve botched half the facts.”

  “Is that so?” Stan chewed, swallowed, and slipped a second tablet into his mouth. “Should have bought stock in these.” He tucked the roll back into his pocket.

  “You know it didn’t go down the way it’s reported, Stan.” Jake leaned forward in the chair. “Off the field I don’t go around provoking people.”

  “Of course, I know that.” Stan picked up the pen he’d tossed and jotted a note on the desk blotter. “But it doesn’t matter. Like I said, those words have hit the newsstand so the damage is done.”

  “Well, it matters to me.”

  “Regardless…we have a mess to clean up. I got a call from Worldwide Sporting Goods. They’ve dropped your contract.”

  “What?” Jake sputtered.

  “That’s not all. By lunch, Pro Fitness did the same.”

  Blood rushed through Jake’s ears as his pressure rose. “Can they do that?”

  “You broke their image clause, Jake. They can do whatever they want.”

  “I should call them and explain.” Jake reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “Once I tell them how it really went down—”

  “No!” Stan lunged across the desk, toppling his foam coffee cup. Muddy brew splattered across a neat stack of file folders. “Give me your phone.”

  “But I can make them understand.”

  “Understand what, Jake?” Stan grabbed Jake’s cell phone. “That the star running back for the Tennessee Titans had a meltdown following an embarrassing playoff loss, and managed to get himself arrested?”

  “I didn’t have a meltdown. I told you, I was—”

  “Tell it to the judge, Jake.” Stan removed the battery from the phone and slipped it into his left pants pocket. The ca
se went into the right. Then he reached for a tissue and began to mop up the splattered coffee. “Take a breath before you dig a deeper hole.”

  “It can’t get any deeper.”

  “Oh, I assure you it can.” Stan dropped the soiled tissue into the trash can.

  “So, what am I supposed to do?”

  “We did get a third phone call…one you might want to consider.”

  “Go on, tell me more.”

  “Have you ever heard of a foundation called Moments for Miracles?”

  Jake shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Well, they’re interested in you.”

  “For what? As a spokesperson?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Stan’s gaze leveled to meet Jake’s. “They grant wishes to critically ill children.”

  “You mean, kids who are going to die?”

  “Some of them—most of them—will.” Stan nodded. “But the rest…”

  Jake sat back in the chair, resting his hands across his knotted belly. “I don’t think I can handle that.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Jake. You need damage control, and this is just what the doctor ordered—no pun intended.” Stan shook his head. “Besides, doing this might lead to a breakthrough of some sort for you, which can only be a good thing. If you don’t let go of the past, it’s eventually going to consume you.”

  “You know what I’ve been through, Stan, as far as childhood illness goes. This whole mess…well, you know where it started.”

  “That’s my point, Jake.” He picked up the pen and twirled it in his fingers. “Yes, I know. I was there for you, remember?”

  “Then, you should know better than anyone that I just can’t do what you’re asking.”

  “Yes, of course you can do it.” Stan tossed the newspaper into Jake’s lap. “Go home, Jake, and keep your nose clean. I’ll contact the director of Moments for Miracles, pull some strings, and tell them you’re on board. Together, we’ll orchestrate a measure of damage control.”

  “I can fight this battle without your meddling.”

  “No, you can’t. You’re in too deep, Jake. Trust me on this.”

  Jake tossed the newspaper back onto the desk and raked a hand through his hair. Could he trust Stan? The two had been friends for years before entering into a lucrative agent-athlete partnership. Jake’s gut roiled as the ESPN ticker tape continued to flash news of the previous night’s escapades. From the look of things, he didn’t have much of a choice. Right now, Stan was his lifeline. “Okay, I’ll let you deal with it.”

  “Good. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.” Stan slipped the newspaper back into the file drawer. “Pack a bag, Jake, and head back to Miracle Cove. Relax and enjoy some down time, now that the season is over. Just promise me you’ll stay out of trouble.”

  “I can manage that—if you keep the press away.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Stan nodded. “In the meantime, why don’t you catch up on a bit of reading?”

  “What type of reading?”

  “The type that will help screw your head back on straight.” Stan handed him a soft-cover book. “It’s a devotional. I have a copy of my own, and I’ve read it cover to cover. You should do the same.”

  The words stabbed Jake. He had been so caught up in the season he’d let other things slide—important things. But Stan was right, this run of bad luck with the press was the wake-up call he needed. He slipped the book into his jeans pocket.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve got you covered.” Stan nodded. “Now, go home and relax. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

  Delaney Coleman’s eyes filled with tears as she stepped into the Miracle Cove Children’s Hospital hallway to listen to Dr. Garrison’s soft-spoken voice.

  “Tate’s blood work is somewhat discouraging this go-round.” Dr. Garrison shook his grizzled head. “We’ll need to run some more tests, but it’s not very promising. I think Tate’s best bet is going to be a bone marrow transplant.”

  “But Tate doesn’t have any siblings, and his father—”

  “I understand. But there are other options. We’ll add him to the Bone Marrow Transfer—or BMT—registry immediately, as a priority candidate.”

  Delaney dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

  “I know.” Dr. Garrison scribbled a note on Tate’s chart, and then leveled his gaze to meet Delaney’s. “But at least it provides a measure of hope.”

  “And what are the chances of finding a suitable match in time?”

  “One in ten-to-twenty-thousand that a viable match for an allogeneic BMT will be found in time. Unfortunately, the transplantation of stem cells from someone other than Tate himself is a long shot, but if we want to bring your son’s leukemia into remission, it’s our best option at this point.”

  Delaney gasped, and the tears flooded over. Her voice was thick, and the words came with great difficulty. “Is there anything we can do to improve the odds?” She glanced into the hospital room where Tate lay curled in the bed, clutching a teddy bear dressed in a signature blue Tennessee Titans jersey. His smooth head peeked above the starched, white sheet, and a Titan’s ball cap tumbled to the side of the pillow, exposing a dusting of spiky-red curls that were just beginning to grow back to cover his pale scalp. “Anything at all?”

  “Pray, Delaney…just pray.”

  “I have been praying. I just…”

  Dr. Garrison took her by the elbow and led her toward a row of vending machines at the end of the hall. Off to the side was a small, sunlit room where families could gather to share a quick meal or a respite from the stark hospital rooms. “There’s someone here to see you. She’s a volunteer from the Moments for Miracles Foundation.”

  Delaney swiped at her eyes and drew a breath. “Oh, yes. I took your advice and contacted her a few weeks ago. She’s probably here to follow up.”

  Her stomach growled, and she realized it had been a full day since her last meal. The room seemed to tilt around her. She’d need to get something into her belly soon.

  “They don’t just grant children’s wishes, Delaney,” Dr. Garrison seemed to sense her discomfort and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps there’s something you’d like to have, as well.” It was more of a question than a statement.

  “My wish—and prayer—is to see Tate get better and be fully healed.” She crossed her arms over her rumbling belly to calm the hunger-storm that surged. “Can this foundation find a donor for him?”

  “Unfortunately, no. That’s not their purpose.” Dr. Garrison shook his head. “But what they can do is give Tate a little dose of happiness—grant a wish for something he’d truly like…something tangible. Laura Evans, the volunteer, will explain.”

  Delaney glanced into the room to see a dark-haired woman seated at a small, round table. She sipped from a foam cup as she sorted through a file of papers. “I’m so glad she came, but this will have to be quick. I need to get back to Tate. He’s sure to wake soon, and he’ll be frightened if I’m not there.” Delaney fished in her jeans pocket for a handful of coins. She counted out seventy-five cents and slipped it into a vending machine, jabbing the buttons until a bag of pretzels dropped into the dispenser.

  “I’ll be back to check on Tate this evening.” Dr. Garrison squeezed her shoulder gently.

  “Promise you’ll eat more than those pretzels, Delaney. You need to keep up your strength.”

  “I’ll try.” Delaney grabbed the pretzel bag from the dispenser, thankful to know a pediatric oncologist who cared about so much more than vital signs and prescriptions. She nodded slightly and offered a halfhearted grin before turning away to enter the sunlit room.

  As she approached the table, Laura Evans glanced up and smiled. “Mrs. Coleman?”

  “Delaney.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you.” She extended a hand, her bright blue eyes full of compassion.

  “I�
�m Laura. May we talk for a bit?”

  “That would be fine…but not for too long.” Delaney slipped into a chair and stretched the kinks from her back. Outside, sunlight danced across the river beyond the hospital parking lot. Delaney was thankful she lived so close to one of the best children’s hospitals in the nation—one that specialized in cancer treatments. Miracle Cove was as good as it got, and with her house only a few miles away, at least she and Tate were afforded some sense of comfort and familiarity, despite his illness. “I have to get back to my son soon.”

  “Of course.” Laura nodded and flipped open a file folder, then took a pen from her purse. “Go ahead and eat your pretzels while we talk. I’m just here to fill you in on the steps we’re taking to grant Tate’s request to meet Jake Taylor.”

  Chapter 2

  “JAKE, DID YOU RECEIVE THE package I forwarded?” Stan’s voice carried over the cell line. “It should have arrived by now.”

  “Yeah.” Jake leaned against the kitchen counter and yawned. Outside an expansive bay window, sunlight sparkled off a dusting of snow that had fallen overnight. The foothills of the Smoky Mountains beyond were haloed by a cap of mist that feathered like tendrils of wispy-gray hair, and low clouds threatened to dump another round of flakes. The pasture rolled still and quiet, flanked along the far side by a row of frosted pines. A gentle breeze whispered along the surface of a large, stocked pond, causing dappled water to kiss the pebble-strewn bank. “The courier dropped it by last night.”

  “Well?” Stan urged. “What did you think?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to open it yet.” Jake ran a hand through sleep-spiked hair and reached for the coffee pot. “You woke me from a dead sleep—the first good rest I’ve had in a week, by the way. It’s barely eight o’clock.” He always slept well at the homestead, even after his mom and stepdad, Harry, moved to a condo in Fernandina Beach, leaving the house and property to him to maintain. Something about the solitude of the mountains and the open, clean air cleared his head and calmed his nerves.