Luck Be An Angel

By Liza O'Connor

Reporter, Ethan Long, is sent into the backwoods of Arkansas to investigate a woman who claims her sixteen boys were born by Immaculate Conception. Not believing in divine intervention, Ethan plans to uncover the identity of the man who continues to impregnate Sara Smith every year, leaving her to raise her sons on nothing but luck and love. He enters their home as a tutor and eventually discovers the truth, but not before he has fallen in love with Sara and her wonderful boys. Now he must face his own crossroad in life and decide whether to follow his heart or his professional obligations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Authors Online
• Release date: Apr 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386707196

Liza O'Connor

   Liza lives in Denville, NJ with her dog Jess. Having an adventurous nature, she learned to fly small Cessnas in NJ, hang-glide in New Zealand, kayak in Pennsylvania, ski in New York, scuba dive with great white sharks in Australia, dig up dinosaur bones in Montana, sky dive in Indiana, and raft a class four river in Tasmania. She’s an avid gardener, amateur photographer, and dabbler in watercolors and graphic arts. Yet through her entire life, her first love has and always will be writing novels. She loves to create interesting characters, set them loose, and scribe what happens in a myriad of genres. http://www.lizaoconnor.com/   

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ethan Long hung on the doorframe and leaned into his editor’s office. Sal said you wanted to see me?

Jacobs glanced up from the paper mountain on his desk and frowned. He motioned Ethan in. Come in, close the door.

‘Close the door’ was never good news with Jacobs. Ethan rummaged through his mind, trying to uncover what he had done to piss off his editor. All he could come up with was the scene his ex-wife caused the day after their divorce became final.

If this is about Susan’s outburst in the newsroom, let me assure you, nothing she said was true. My relationship with every woman she named is entirely platonic. She accused them because they are the only women I know. He grimaced. It’s not like I have a life outside of work.

Jacobs held up his hand. If you had a life outside of work, you might still have a marriage.

The anger that boiled up in response shocked Ethan. So you called me in to discuss my lack of a social life? Because if you have, I’d like to point out we wouldn’t have gotten the Delaney story or the exclusive on the Simmons Bank heist if I didn’t eat, drink, and sleep this job.

Jacobs sighed heavily. Sit down and settle your quills. I called you in for an assignment.

At the word ‘assignment’, Ethan’s anger dissipated. He sat in the plastic armchair and leaned forward in anticipation. An assignment that required a closed door had to be good.

Jacobs glanced down at a sheet of paper in front of him. His face soured as if the paper gave him indigestion. Here’s the problem. If this story’s done right, it could be Pulitzer prize winning.

Ethan felt every muscle in his body tense with excitement.

It could give this paper great publicity which could translate into bigger ad revenues.

Ethan’s foot thumped with impatience. He had no interest in advertising revenue. He was a newshound, a reporter, a man on the streets, finding the secrets, uncovering the truths, and explaining the complex so all could understand.

His news-sense told him Jacobs had a great lead on his desk. Yet, he could see the lead was not yet his. Something was making Jacobs hesitate, probably his ex-wife’s tantrum.

I’m your man, Ethan said with certainty.

Jacobs chewed the inside of his cheeks. Well, that’s my problem. You’re my best writer, but I’m not sure you can set aside your personal issues to do this story.

What personal issues? I’m a hundred percent professional! Ethan felt his anger rise again. Damn his ex-wife! Jacobs had never in the six years he’d worked for this paper ever suggested he wasn’t professional until now.

If this was a bank heist, I couldn’t agree more. But this story might have a better chance with Carlson.

His fingers gripped the plastic arms of the chair. Carlson! He can’t write himself out of a paper bag.

Jacobs sighed and nodded in agreement. Which is why I’m contemplating giving you this story, even though my gut tells me you can’t do it.

He released the chair’s arms before he snapped them in two. Well, your gut needs to see a doctor, Jacobs. There isn’t a story in the world I can’t do better than Carlson.

Jacobs studied him with skeptical eyes. You promise me that you’ll put aside all this personal garbage you’ve acquired and give this story a hundred percent?

His hands flew up in rage. What personal garbage? What the hell did Jacobs think he’d done?

Jacobs shook his head. Ethan knew his response wasn’t the one Jacobs wanted, so he changed it. Yes, I promise. While I have no idea what personal garbage you think I have, I swear to you, I will give the story a hundred percent.

Jacobs pounded his chest until he released some of the gas tormenting his stomach. You’ll probably need to go undercover for a month, at least.

No problem. Unlike Carlson, I don’t have a wife expecting me home every night.

He lifted the paper from his desk. Ethan’s hand reached out to receive it. A chill of excitement ran down his spine. This was just what he needed to get his mind off his sorry excuse of a personal life.

Jacobs continued to hold the paper inches from his reach. Once you take this, there’s no going back. We’ve got one shot at this, then the story’s blown.

I’m your man! Ethan stretched his hand closer to the paper.

Slowly the paper moved toward him. The moment it was within reach, Ethan snatched it from Jacobs’s fingers. It was his. The story of the century was his!

As he stared at the paper, his excitement crashed to the floor.

Caring person to teach sixteen nice children. $100/week, meals and board incl. 431-222-3654

He flipped the paper over, hoping for something better on the other side. Finding nothing, he stared at Jacobs for an explanation.

Little Turner caught that ad and brought it to my attention. That boy has the makings of a good reporter.

Ethan sighed. This was just one of Jacobs’s stupid morality lessons. Every six months or so, Jacobs would make a big production over something small so the reporter would remember it and ‘grow’ from it. Although Ethan had yet to figure out what the damn moral of this drama was supposed to be, he’d lay money that it had something to do with his ex-wife.

Jacobs leaned back in his chair. You haven’t caught on yet, but then Little Turner had a bit more information than you do. He knew the woman’s name who called in and placed the ad.

Ethan knew Jacobs wanted him to ask for the name, but he just wasn’t in the mood to play nice right now. Jacobs had promised him the story of a century. It was not right to get his hopes up for a damn morality pageant.

Sara Smith...name ring any bells?

Ethan resisted asking if she was the cousin of Jane Doe. Sara Smith. The name did ring a bell. Something about a fairy tale: The old woman who lived in a shoe. He glanced at the ad. Sixteen nice children. That’s the crazy harlot with all the kids?

Jacobs looked disappointed by his response. It’s never been proven she’s a whore.

Ethan shook his head. She’s unmarried, with no viable means of support, and pops out another kid every year. I think her claim of Immaculate Conception is wearing a bit thin now.

Yet, no one has ever proved her a liar, and believe me, several papers have put photographers on the story.

Ethan’s brow furrowed in disgust. Including this one.

Jacobs held up his hands. Hey, it’s a great story if you can get it. He then leaned forward. But no one has. No one knows how she gets pregnant every Valentine’s Day.

Ethan rubbed his neck. This is your great lead? A worn-out story with no pictures to back it up? Maybe he should move to a new state with a new editor. Jacobs has lost his freaking mind.

Jacobs shook his head and pointed to the ad. That is the lead to a great story. No one has ever told her side. No one has ever gotten close enough to uncover the truth. I know you hate women right now...

Especially women that sleep around.

But you said you’d give the story a hundred percent.

Ethan stared at the ad and then at him. You expect me to apply for this job? To go live with a prostitute and her sixteen no-named fathered children to uncover...exactly, what do you think I’m going to find?

The truth. If anyone can find out what’s going on, it’s you. There’s a story here! Do you know why she’s placed this ad? Last year, she won a drawing by a local builder to build a four-bedroom house on her property. Only she doesn’t own any land. The good townspeople of Briarville pulled together and bought her land for her new house. After her house was finished, they revealed she was outside of city limits and her children couldn’t attend their school anymore. She left school when she was pregnant with her first child at fourteen, so she can’t teach them, nor can she afford a reasonable salary. She wanted a woman, but Little Turner explained the ad couldn’t specify gender due to discrimination laws. Smart boy, eh? I imagine you’ll be the only one applying for the job, and she has to have a tutor. Child Welfare has told her if the children don’t have a teacher by the end of this week, they’ll send them out to foster homes.

Ethan sighed and rubbed his temple. He wanted to tell Jacobs to give the damn thing to Carlson, but he couldn’t do it. He hated that slimy bastard too much to let him have any story. All right, I’ll do it, but I doubt it’ll take a month.

Take as long as you need to find the truth. Jacobs opened his desk drawer and pulled out a jar of Tums. He popped four in his mouth and chewed them like candy. I know you hate women right now. But, I also know you love the truth. If I send Carlson, and he can’t discover the truth in a few days, he’ll just make something up. I don’t want that. I want the damn truth. So I need you to take hold of your hundred-percent-professionalism, drop your well-earned dislike of unfaithful women, and find out what is really happening to Sara Smith.

Ethan sighed. You know... those kids probably would be better off in foster homes.

Well, if you discover that’s true, write about it. You’ve got a woman and sixteen little subjects. There’s got to be a story in that alone.

Ethan nodded in agreement. Jacobs was right. There was a story here. Not necessarily Sara’s, but that of her children. What hell had they gone through being the children of Briarville’s most prolific whore?

He stood up and stared at the number. I’ll call her now.

"No. Go down and