What If...

By Lisa M. Owens

What would you do if you had the chance to go back and relive your greatest mistake?

When Maggie Ryerson was a teenager, she made a choice that changed her life forever. Once the stick turned blue, she found herself torn between two men: one was the friend who had comforted her when her world was suddenly turned upside-down and the other was the man she loved... and the father of her baby. Both men had feelings for her and both of them had offered to marry her.

She chose to marry for love.

Now faced with an unplanned pregnancy, a husband who can’t keep a job and a hormonal teenager, Maggie wonders what her life would have been like if she had married for money instead.

But like the saying goes, be careful what you wish for...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa M. Owens
• Release date: Oct 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311856111

Lisa M. Owens

The writing bug bit Lisa M. Owens at an early age; she was writing short stories and poetry by the age of seven. At the age of eight, she entered a writing contest at her elementary school. About fifty books were written, but Lisa was one of the thirteen writers chosen who received a certificate and the chance to meet Oklahoma writer Sandy Miller. A former victim of domestic violence herself, Lisa worked at the courthouse for over seven years. Almost three of those years she worked on the Marriage License/Protective Order desk. She helped women file protective orders and worked closely with the staff and counselors at DVIS. Frustrated with books that merely gloss over the subject of domestic violence, Lisa wanted to write a book that told the entire story. Her first novel, If Only..., was the result. Her dream is for her words to help give someone the courage to leave an abusive relationship. She resides in Oklahoma and has two children. This is her second published novel, and the first novel of this series, Bree and Scott’s story, is now available. She is currently working on her third novel. Lisa enjoys hearing from her readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 9643, Tulsa, OK 74157-0643, or by e-mail, [e-mail]. She can also be contacted on her website, www.lmowens.co.

Book preview

Prologue

Malachi

I stood between two marble pillars in the domed entryway, shaking my head as I listened to the small group of guides bicker back and forth like gossiping old women. To me, they sounded more like chickens clucking than the heavenly beings they were supposed to be.

Who shall we send? Angelique, one of the elders, asked. She was a blunt, no-nonsense woman who had a hand in the distribution of assignments. She was fishing, no doubt, looking for a volunteer.

Not me, Adam argued under his breath. I don’t need that kind of headache.

You know she’ll be difficult. Gabriel rolled his eyes.

The enormous room was one of exquisite beauty, without the barriers of walls or an end in sight. Time never passed there the way it did on Earth. I should know—I have been a guide for almost three hundred years. Well, here we call ourselves guides. What we are considered on Earth is something entirely different.

Down there, we are called angels.

I jumped at the sound of a gavel banging. As if by magic, the crowd immediately fell silent. The arguing blessedly ceased. No one coughed; no one even breathed. Of course, everyone there had already served their time on Earth and no longer had any reason to breathe.

Assignments were about to be issued.

Maggie Ryerson, a deep voice seemed to boom from out of nowhere. A difficult case, just like her mother. But an important one. Malachi, you have been her handler since the very beginning. You will be required to return to Earth for a short period of time. She is at the end of her rope, and she is about to question every decision that she has ever made. I need you to show her the error of her ways.

Yes, sir. I straightened my posture and smiled at the thought of seeing my darling Maggie in the flesh for the first time since she was a little girl.

When the boss handed me a gnarled wooden walking stick, the confusion on my face must have been obvious because the other man grinned.

She mustn’t recognize you from her childhood. You shall take the form of an elderly man. You might practice walking hunched over and shuffling your feet, he advised. Only tell her what she needs to know and help her realize what she wants is not always what she needs.

With that simple statement, and the walking stick firmly clasped in my hand, I blinked my eyes once. When I opened them, I was no longer in the clouds…

Chapter One

Maggie

"Maggie, I got fired."

I looked up from where I was mopping water from the kitchen floor. My husband’s news, though not completely unexpected given his track record, was the last thing I needed to hear. On top of the broken pipe, my daughter’s broken clarinet, the electricity bring shut off, and spending the day scrubbing toilets for lazy rich people, I’d just found out I was eight weeks pregnant.

After fifteen years of marriage, Ashton still couldn’t hold down a job. So much for the happily ever after I had envisioned when we married. Instead of being a stay-at-home-mom to Hannah, my days were spent working myself into exhaustion, burning my hands on harsh cleaning chemicals, and missing out on all my daughter’s achievements.

Disappointment and defeat crashed around me as I realized I’d be missing the new baby’s milestones as well.

Playing the role of gentleman, Ashton helped me to my feet. I looked at him, wondering how my life had come to this.

I was absolutely wearing myself ragged cleaning other people’s homes, not having the energy left to clean my own. I was buried to my eyeballs in debt. My eyes filled with tears. I just didn’t know how much more I could take. In my heart, I knew that the good Lord would give me no more than I could handle, but sometimes I wished He didn’t have quite so much faith in me.

Ashton’s hands encircled my waist, his body pressing against mine. His half-hearted apologies buzzed in my ears. Fifteen years of pain and disappointment came crashing down on me. I looked around our small, cramped house with a critical eye, wishing that my life could be different—wishing that I could be different.

In that instant, I reached my breaking point. I couldn’t keep standing there, listening to more of his empty promises and excuses. Financial security had never seemed so far from my grasp. The walls were closing in on me.

I needed to get out of there.

I pulled out of Ashton’s arms. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was going to do when I got there. I only knew I needed to get away.

Ashton called my name, but I didn’t turn or even acknowledge his voice.

I ran out the front door. Wearing my old, worn-out sneakers, I raced through mud puddles and overgrown weeds almost as tall as me. I ran as fast as I could, the images surrounding me becoming nothing but a blur. My head swam, my thoughts scattered and unfocused.

I found myself standing at the edge of a cliff staring down at the jagged peaks and crumbling rock. I felt like the earth was shifting beneath me, as though one wrong move would be the end of me.

My gaze averted toward the direction of the town I loved, the people I loved. I had been born and raised in Mistletoe, Texas. I was known as so much more than just the cleaning lady there. Here I was, Maggie Ryerson, wife of Ashton, mother of Hannah. But somehow, at this time of my life, it just wasn’t enough anymore.

Somewhere along the line, I had lost myself. Between marriage and motherhood, I didn’t know who the hell I was anymore. Maybe I’d never really gotten the opportunity to discover who I really was. I wanted more. I wanted to be more. Cleaning homes in Evergreen, Texas, wasn’t exactly what I’d envisioned for my life. I once had dreams and ambitions, longing to change the world, to make it a better place.

For a moment, I allowed myself to think of Carter Carrington, the man I had met right before I’d gotten married. He had been tall and blond with slightly curly and unruly hair and had a piercing brown stare that made me weak in the knees. Even at the age of twenty-one, he had been determined and career-oriented, with plans to follow in his father’s real estate footsteps.

I had been dating Ashton at that time, until a terrible argument resulted in us splitting up for a little over three months. Carter had been a shoulder for me to cry on, a friend when I had needed one the most. But then our friendship quickly changed into something more, something more than either one of us had ever expected.

I found more than comfort in Carter’s embrace; I found someone who unleashed a hidden passion in me that I’d never even known I possessed. Until then, Ashton had been my one and only lover.

When I discovered that I was pregnant with Ashton’s child, Carter had immediately dropped to his knees and proposed. He insisted that he wanted a family and even though we didn’t love each other—we had never loved each other—he felt that it would develop over time. He had logically concluded that since he was older and more responsible, he would be better equipped than Ashton for the vows of marriage, along with the joys and trials of fatherhood. Becoming his wife would have opened the door for me to have a different life. A life where I could have been somebody—where money wasn’t a problem, but a solution.

I closed my eyes, imagining a different life for myself. I would have a huge house with servants—someone to cook dinner for me instead of me always having to do it by myself. The bills would always be paid on time and utilities would never be cut off. I would be there when my daughter came home from school and always be available to help her with her homework. I would have the money and time to donate to worthwhile causes and the luxury to afford whatever I wanted instead of always having to make do with what I already had.

My fantasy included an immaculate home that I never had to clean and a perfectly manicured lawn where flowers bloomed in abundance at the hands of an experienced gardener. An automobile that actually ran and wasn’t on the brink of being on the endangered species list, and college funds for my children instead of merely crossing my fingers and praying that Hannah would receive a full scholarship.

I wrapped my arms around my body as the weather suddenly turned colder. The quickly changing winds and sudden drop in temperature caused my teeth to chatter. Walking forward, I forged ahead, toward the direction of my home, stopping when a thick fog enveloped me. I could no longer see the path I’d been taking. My right foot slipped and I stumbled over an upturned root and for a split, heart-stopping second, I feared that I had simply fallen right off the cliff.

I breathed a shaky sigh of relief when my foot found solid ground. I continued walking forward, my steps slow and faltering. The heavy mist swirled all around me, so thick I couldn’t see which direction I was headed.

When I reached the forest, I exhaled slowly. I was almost home. As I waded carefully through the wooded area, I was forced to rely solely on my sense of touch. I delicately fingered the trees and sharp, hanging tree limbs, cringing when one of them scratched my face.

Fear filled me, and I stifled the scream that clawed like an animal at my throat. I couldn’t see anything, yet the spooky, haunting sounds of the forest surrounded me. I was terrified that at any moment fierce animals would jump through the trees and eat me alive, with no one around to hear my tortured screams.

I walked for what seemed like forever before finally recognizing the sight of my sagging picket fence, which was desperately in need of a fresh coat of white paint. I’d never been so relieved to see that weather-beaten fence in my life!

As I approached the front steps, the fog lifted and completely disappeared. I paused mid-stride when I noticed I’d been mistaken. It wasn’t my picket fence. It was, but yet, it wasn’t. This fence was in excellent condition, with no boards sagging or missing. The gate latch, which had been broken in half, had been replaced and the fence itself was sporting a fresh coat of paint.

But how was this possible?

I reached for the latch and lifted it upward, entering through the front gate and then securing the fastener behind me. I slowly stepped across the rock-lined pathway. My house wasn’t the light shade of gray that Ashton and I had painted it two years before. Now, it was a bright sunshine yellow with hunter green trim and matching shutters. Dread pooled in my stomach.

As I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, I scrutinized the differences in the house. Although the house was remarkably different, there were still some similarities. For example, Hannah’s basketball goal was still hanging over the garage. The old pecan tree that Ashton and I carved our names into remained near the fence. Our one-car garage still had the same broken window.

After double-checking the house number and confirming that indeed, this was my house, a sudden flash of inspiration struck me and I walked around to the backyard.

But nothing there was as it should be.

Instead of Hannah’s old tire swing hanging from the heaviest branch of the ancient old oak tree in our backyard, the tree had simply vanished. The vegetable garden that I had started a few years ago was gone and in its place stood a raw wood gazebo surrounded by a golden circle of sunflowers. Smooth gray stones framed a miniature pond filled with goldfish where our storage shed used to be and a concrete birdbath stood where Ashton’s hammock and outdoor grill once was.

I cursed my rotten luck. I really wish that I could have afforded to keep my cell phone service. It would have been useful to have my phone right now.

As I strode back around to the front of the house, I weighed my options, which at this particular time were limited. I had no money, no phone, and absolutely no way to contact my family. And along with everything else, my older model sedan had disappeared as well. My trusty yet somewhat rusty bicycle was no longer propped up against the side of the garage, and I was left with no other mode of transportation.

There was really no other choice. I would have to knock on the front door. Remembering that only moments ago I had been fighting a losing battle with the tree from hell, I self-consciously ran a hand through my dark hair in a vain attempt to tame the strands as I stood on the front porch. After only a slight hesitation, I raised my clenched fist and knocked loudly on the screen door.

Then I waited.

And waited.

I sighed.

Apparently, nobody was home. I should have known that it couldn’t really be this easy. I took a single step back toward the porch steps when the door creaked as it was opened.

I was pleasantly surprised to see an elderly man pushing the screen door open with one hand while he held onto a scarred, wooden cane with the other. His sky blue eyes were friendly and welcoming, his expression warm. I concluded this man was probably in his late seventies. He was almost completely bald, except for the white tufts of hair sticking up on either side of his head.

He grinned, revealing teeth so perfect they almost had to be dentures. Somehow, the look on his face put me completely at ease. A strange feeling flittered through my stomach. It was as if I knew him from somewhere. But then I shook my head. On top of everything else, I must be losing my mind. This man was a stranger to me, just like I was a stranger to him.

He opened up the door even wider, allowing me to enter. Since I really didn’t have much of a choice, I reluctantly followed him inside. The man shoved his hand into the pocket of his khaki slacks, extracting a pocket watch on a long, tarnished gold chain that looked older than he was. He looked down to read the time and then he lifted his head and flashed me a friendly smile.

I have been expecting you, Maggie. He chuckled. As usual, you are right on time. Ever since you were a little girl, I have never known you to be late for anything.

My mouth must have gaped open in surprise, but in that rare moment, words failed me. It was only the first sentence out of his mouth, and he had already thrown me for a loop.

How could this perfect stranger know my name? How on earth could he possibly know what I had been like as a child?

You are a lucky, lucky woman, Maggie. He sat down in a nearby rocking chair.

He gestured for me to sit down as well, but I shook my head in silent refusal.

I need to get home. I wondered if there was anyone, anywhere, who could help me. Figuring that this old man couldn’t, I turned around and walked toward the door.

Home is not home to you anymore. Ashton and Hannah are no longer in this house waiting for you.

His simple statement stopped me in my tracks. I turned around