Heart of a Champion Read online

  Heart of a Champion

  The Colorado Springs Series: Book Two

  By Kelsey MacBride

  Table of Contents

  Book Description

  AVAILABLE TITLES BY KELSEY MACBRIDE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Book Description

  If you would like to be notified about sales and new book releases, be sure to sign up for my free newsletter at the following link: http://kelseymacbride.com/newsletter-signup

  Heart of a Champion is the second and final Christian Romance book in The Colorado Springs Series and continues with the story of Brenda Wagner’s recovery from a tragic accident at a skating competition that nearly destroys her lifelong love of skating. Left with crushed hopes and a permanent disability, this story highlights Brenda’s journey of courage to find a new purpose in life, her hopes of returning to the ice, her struggles, and her achievements as she trusts God to help her grow.

  In this second book, Brenda Wagner struggles to cope with the realities of her new life. Even though God has blessed her with the miraculous ability to walk again, Brenda must adapt to permanent vision changes. When she thinks her world can’t get any worse, Brenda’s skating coach drops the earth shattering news that she can never skate competitively again. At first Brenda is angry with her coach and God, but soon she resigns herself to the fact that her childhood fantasy of being a professional skater will remain nothing but a dream. But one day, her coach surprises her with a unique opportunity to return to the ice, on the condition she skate with a partner. Knowing she has no other choice, Brenda reluctantly accepts her coach’s offer. But sparks begin to fly when she discovers her new skating partner is Scott Nichols, her ex-fiancé.

  Scott Nichols remains hopeful that Brenda will reopen her heart to him someday. He tries to be supportive during Brenda’s recovery, but she does little to acknowledge his efforts. When Brenda’s skating coach approaches him about being Brenda’s new skating partner, he gladly accepts the offer, hoping the opportunity will give him a chance to show Brenda how much he loves her. Scott knows reconciliation won’t be easy, but he leaves everything in God’s hands. Will Brenda soften her heart and forgive the only man she ever loved? Or will she forever scorn him? Find out by downloading Heart of a Champion.

  AVAILABLE TITLES BY KELSEY MACBRIDE

  The Colorado Springs Series

  Dreams of Gold

  The Hawaii Love Series

  Courageous Love

  Perfect Love

  Inspiration Point Series

  Free to Love

  Unforgettable Love

  Glen Ellen Series

  Fall From Grace

  Saving Grace

  Bradley Sister Series

  Choices of the Heart: Lauren’s story

  Desires of the Heart: Megan’s story

  Passions of the Heart: Tiffany’s story

  Redemption of the Heart: Katie’s story

  Please visit www.KelseyMacBride.com for release dates of future books and to find out how to join my community of followers.

  Copyright © 2015 by Kelsey MacBride

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Jimmy Gibbs.

  Book design by Kelsey MacBride

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Kelsey MacBride

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: January 2015

  New Prosperity Publishing, Inc.

  ASIN-

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  This is book 2 in The Colorado Springs series. There are storylines that started in book 1 and will follow through to book 2. If this is the first book you’ve picked up in the series, and you want to enjoy this series to the fullest, please begin with book 1.

  Dreams of Gold

  Chapter 1

  “Come on, guys. Let her through. If she wanted to talk to you, she’d say something.” It was Scott.

  Brenda wanted to be angry he was coming to her rescue, but she just couldn’t muster up the energy. She gave him a weak smile, let him take hold of her arm and pull her through the muscling reporters to the car. Brenda got into the back seat. Her emotions were tearing around in her chest like a bird in a cage too small for its wings. She wanted to say something to Scott, but couldn’t decide what. He’d always been the person she wanted to talk to most of all. But that was then. She sat staring blankly out the window.

  Scott greeted her parents and then slammed the door shut. He waved as the car drove off, and when he turned around, the reporters were walking away from him.

  “Hey, where you guys going? I’ll talk to you! Don’t you want to know about me?”

  “No!” one of the reporters yelled back, and Scott laughed.

  “Why not? Come on. I’ll answer your really tough questions. My biggest threat is the cheeseburger. I can’t say no to them. They taunt me.” He tagged along a few steps behind the reporters as if trying to give them a taste of their own medicine. Finally, he turned, heading into the skating rink, and went looking for Pamela.

  Scott Porter had been at the same skating rink as Brenda for almost ten years now. To him, it was a different kind of passion that kept him coming back. When he walked onto the ice almost every afternoon, he was greeted with the same sound.

  “Mr. Scott is here! Mr. Scott is here!”

  Half a dozen six-year-olds on Tuesdays, about ten eight-year-olds on Wednesdays, and two hockey teams of fourteen-year-olds on Friday nights and Saturday mornings called him that. It was due to his big sister’s influence that he started up these small classes.

  Joyce was older than Scott by six years and his only sibling.

  “You are such a pest!” he’d hear at least a hundred times a day when they were growing up. She couldn’t help it. Scott was a small shadow that followed her everywhere she went. If she was learning to ride a bike or skateboard, there was that shadow. If she was taking her first adventure walking alone to the ice cream shop, the shadow shuffled along behind her. And when boys became a subject of interest and visited the house, there was a small shadow peeking around corners to watch them sitting on the porch swing or observing the living room from the stairs to see them on the couch watching a movie.

  It wasn’t until Joyce was eighteen years old that she realized Scott was anything but a pest. As a little brother, he never gave her anything to worry about. He wasn’t reckless, running with scissors, or eating dirt like she’d hear her girlfriends talk about at school. He didn’t go through her things or mess up her room. In fact, he never even thought to barge in without knocking and waiting for a reply. It could be seen in the earliest baby pictures—after Scott Walter Porter was brought home from the hospital, weighing in at seven pounds eleven ounces, Joyce Anne Porter took to him like a duck to water.

  She was at her mother’s side at nightly feedings, talking to the crying infant while Mrs. Porter got his formula ready. Her words were soft and kind as she tried to explain in her sleepy, little-girl voice what their
mama was doing and that it would only take a few more seconds, and he could have his snack.

  His was the first face she’d run to see when she woke up. It was he who she wanted to see after the school bus dropped her off. His giggles were a never-ending reward for making funny faces or silly sounds. It never crossed her mind that she wasn’t just Scott’s sister but his very first and best friend.

  So when boys, clothes, makeup, and those teenage things started to become a little more interesting than reading comic books together or traipsing through the small patch of trees and bushes at the edge of their property looking for caterpillars or gardener snakes, Scott did what he thought was best. He followed Joyce around. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t try to pull her back home or fake an illness to get her to stay and play cards or pick-up-sticks. Whatever Joyce was up to was okay with him, as long as she was within view.

  In her heart, Joyce liked that her little brother adored her so. Sometimes she’d put on a show in front of her friends, rolling her eyes and planting her hand on her hip. “He follows me everywhere. I can barely go to the bathroom alone. When I come out he asks what took me so long.” To which her friends would nod their heads, and those who had younger siblings would totally sympathize. But then she’d smile and give Scott a wink, her secret signal that she really didn’t mind at all.

  It might have been this easy and strong bond with her brother that made Joyce go into social work at the Poudre Valley Hospital. She had a knack for bringing children out of their shell. For some of those children, living all balled up and taking up very little space had become normal. For some of them, Joyce was their last hope. With faith and grit, she’d become a small beacon of light in what sometimes seemed like a completely black sea of sadness.

  She’d been a child advocate for over fifteen years. The job was hard at times, and sometimes she felt like she was teetering on the edge of a very dark place. But when that happened, she’d step back and regain her balance.

  Like a lot of girls who had younger brothers and sisters, Joyce started babysitting for extra money when she was about twelve. To her, it was getting paid to play games, draw pictures, tell stories, read books, and eat. What could be better? When their teen youth group at church was looking for volunteers to help with the children’s Bible study class, she signed up immediately, often bringing Scott with her, insisting it wouldn’t hurt him to learn a little more about the Good Book. Her volunteer efforts didn’t stop there. She led a prayer group every Thursday evening at Christian Senior Living Home. She helped at the park district, teaching children how to swim. She led story time at the library once a week. If there was a kid over the age of three or under the age of sixteen within a four-town radius, they knew who Joyce Porter was, and they all loved her. She wasn’t only an inspiration to Scott but dozens of kids all around town.

  However, it was Trisha Peebles who impacted both their lives more than they would ever have thought possible.

  Trisha was a smiley little girl of six with olive-colored skin, dark brown eyes, and the most beautiful black hair that fell into natural, silky ringlets. She showed up at the library every day when Joyce was reading and would plop her little round body right in front, fold her hands, and listen intently to every word. She didn’t speak much, but Joyce could tell her mind was transported to whatever mysterious, wonderful world the story was describing. Trisha was often accompanied by her grandmother, as were many of the children who attended story time. Parents had to work, and who wouldn’t opt for a family member to watch their child as opposed to a stranger at a preschool, right?

  That’s how it’s supposed to be. Children are supposed to feel safest at home. That’s their refuge, their safe place to fall. That was probably why it came as such a shock when Trisha stopped coming to the library. It wasn’t like Joyce had been looking for her or had taken any special interest in her. It was almost an afterthought when she asked Miss Windell, the librarian if she’d seen the little girl.

  “Trisha Peebles? Honey, she died. I thought you knew. It was in the newspapers.”

  “Died? What did she die of?” Joyce had asked, her thirteen-year-old mind unable to completely comprehend how another child could be on the planet one day and then gone the next.

  “She was beaten. Her grandmother took her to the hospital, and they said she’d been hit on the head.” Miss Windell was patient, but Joyce remembered her fidgeting and looking at a stack of cards in her hands.

  “Did they catch the person who did it to her?” Joyce pressed. Her mind wouldn’t let her stop asking questions. She had to know if justice was going to be served. Wasn’t it that simple? Just catch the guy who did it and throw him in jail.

  “It was her grandmother who did it. And yes, the police have her now.”

  It was a couple of minutes before Joyce was able to move from that spot. When it was time for her to start her reading hour with the kids, Scott had to come and get her. She told him what she’d learned and he, too, said he felt funny hearing the news. This was grown-up business—things adults talked about at the kitchen table over coffee while the kids were still in bed, sleeping late on Saturday mornings.

  Joyce had picked out a story with a happy ending and read it with the same animation and enthusiasm she always did. The little kids hugged her when it was over like they usually did, and the older ones waved bye-bye, promising to be back next week.

  But Scott saw the difference in his sister, even if no one else had. She was serious and preoccupied and, finally when they were away from the library and walking home along the well-worn path the kids in the neighborhood had carved out for themselves away from the street traffic, Joyce cried.

  It was time for Scott to be her protector. As best he could at seven years old, he took his sister’s hand and held it as they walked, a little slower than usual, so Joyce could get it all out and not have to explain to her parents what had happened.

  Several weeks later, Scott asked his parents about the little girl that died. After he could face the situation himself without feeling funny or scared, he told his mother what they’d found out.

  “I heard about it, Scotty, on the news. I didn’t know you guys knew her,” his mother said, gently slipping her arm around his waist and pulling him a little closer.

  “Why does God let things like that happen?” he asked.

  “Sometimes bad things have to happen so people can dig down deep inside themselves and make good come from it. Somewhere, that little girl touched someone who might go on to do great things because of her. Had this bad thing not happened, that person might never realize their calling.”

  Scott sort of understood. It wouldn’t be until much later that he’d see how right his mother was. When his sister decided on a life dedicated to social work for abused and neglected children, he saw the memory of Trisha Peebles reflected in her eyes.

  “It just feels right,” Joyce said to Scott. “I won’t make a million dollars, but maybe I can help.”

  It was a contagious kind of helping, too. Scott couldn’t sit behind a desk, keep detailed records, research cases, and maneuver through the bureaucracy that loved to wrap itself in miles and miles of red tape. His sister had that kind of patience. He didn’t. Instead, he taught children how to ice skate. For that, he had all the patience in the world.

  When Scott walked into the skating rink after his invitation to the reporters was turned down, he thought about his class with the kids. Even after ten years and dozens of students, the looks on their little faces were the same. He knew almost all their families and made a point to do so. He knew whether they had siblings and what they liked or didn’t like at school. He knew who had that special something to keep skating for years, and he could also spot which ones were just out to have fun until something else stole their attention. Like his sister, he’d never make a million dollars at this job, but he hoped he was doing some good.

  “Mr. Scott! Mr. Scott!” yelled Zack. Zack was six-and-a-half and had a vocabulary to rival
most college professors.

  “Hi. Zack. You ready to do some skating today?”

  “Yup. I think I might have influenza.”

  “The influenza? Well, what makes you think you have influenza?”

  The little boy’s bright eyes searched the lights overhead, and Scott imagined he could hear the boy’s mind buzzing and whirring inside his skull.

  “Well, my grandma had it when she was my age.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, that makes sense.”

  Zack’s cheeks rounded like apples as he smiled. Just as Scott was about to pursue this conversation with his student, he felt the familiar vibration of his phone. Pulling it from his pocket, he looked at the number.

  Unknown caller.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Scotty,” came the familiar voice of Scott’s father, Walter, on the other end of the line.

  With lightning quickness, Scott was transported back in time to when he was thirteen years old and saw his father being led out of their family home in the middle of the night by a couple of men in suits with badges and guns underneath their jackets. His mother was crying as she kissed him goodbye, twisting her wedding ring nervously as she watched him hug their kids.

  “It’s the only way, Mrs. Porter,” one of the men said. He was tall, rail thin, and looked like a scarecrow in his brown jacket and pants. He tugged at his tie around his neck, obviously not used to it. Or maybe it was the intensity of the situation that was making him hot under the collar. “You both are giving each other a chance. Your children are going to have a chance. You can sleep well at night knowing that.”

  Scott remembered his mother nodding her head and weeping, standing there in her flannel nightgown, her hair messed and no make-up on. It wasn’t just their father that was leaving. The whole family got a makeover. Scott, his mother, and his sister were plucked from Chicago and dropped into Colorado with new last names and histories.

  As Scott got older, he began to understand the idea of a father in the witness protection program. But, it really didn’t matter since everyone around him thought his father was dead. Extended family, neighbors, and friends who’d grown up with Walter all thought he’d died. They went to the cemetery where the fake funeral was held. They placed flowers on the empty grave. Or maybe it wasn’t empty. Maybe some other person in another witness protection program was actually buried there. Either way, it wasn’t Scott’s dad beneath the headstone that read. “Walter Joseph Porter, beloved husband and father.”