Take a Chance on Me

Take a Chance on Me By Jennifer Dawson


A Something New Novel


To my husband,

who supported every crazy idea I’ve ever had.

I still remember everything about the day

I met you in the library,

from your 100-percent-success-rate pickup line,

to the Elizabeth Arden card I wrote my number on.

It’s been twenty years and you’re still the best thing

that ever happened to me.





And to my mom,

my biggest cheerleader,

who truly believes I can do anything.

Everyone thinks their mom is the best,

but in my case,

it’s true.





Chapter One



God was punishing her.

It was the only logical conclusion. Madeline Donovan had done the unthinkable, and now she had to pay.

Sister Margaret had warned her time and again, but she hadn’t believed.

Well, today she was a believer.

A bead of sweat slid down her spine as she took another painful step, wincing as the blister that had formed on her pinky toe half a mile back rubbed against the strap of her four-inch-heeled sandal.

Of course, she could take the shoes off, but then she’d be forced to walk barefoot on a deserted highway in the dark. Seeing as she was on the Lord’s bad side, keeping the heels on was the safe bet.

The wind whipped, swirling around her like a mini tornado as another car zipped past at eighty miles per hour. Stupid Southern-belle curls, long transformed into a tangled heap, flew into her face and blinded her. She pressed closer to the bushes lining the two-lane road. Best not to tempt fate by walking too closely to motor vehicles.

Her dress caught on a wayward branch and she ripped it free. The sound of the tearing fabric seemed to echo down the highway. She sighed with satisfaction. The damned thing’s destruction was the only bright spot in an otherwise miserable day.

Off in the not-too-distant horizon, peeking through the trees like a beacon of hope, a red neon sign blazed in the night sky. The word BAR blinked, winking at her, making her mouth water, urging her on. She’d been following the sign since her car broke down, and it got closer with every anguished step.

Tightening her grip on the small purse, her fingers dug into the tiny crystal beads. She had fifty bucks. More than enough to plant her ass on a stool and get drunk. Maybe not the smartest choice, given her situation, but she’d stopped caring about smart the second she’d pulled out of that parking lot.

All-too-vivid images of this afternoon filled her mind while sweat, already dampening her temples from the humidity and the long walk, trickled down her hairline.

What had she done?

This morning she’d had no idea she would take this kind of drastic measure. There’d been no sense of impending doom, no inner knowledge of what was to come. All she’d woken up with was an upset stomach and the complete certainty of where the day would end.

It hadn’t included walking down a dark, unknown highway in the dead of night.

Now look at her: one act of desperate panic and she was stranded in the middle of Illinois farmland. Well, punishment or not, she would make it to that bar.

With her gaze trained on the red sign, she took another determined, torturous step toward salvation.





What felt like an eternity later, Maddie threw open the door. Adrenaline alone had kept her going for the last quarter mile. Her dress was torn and streaked with dirt, but she’d finally made it.

Maybe God hadn’t abandoned her after all.

A warm gust of humid air and probably a few mosquitoes followed her into the nearly empty bar. She’d have bites tomorrow, but she wouldn’t think about that now.

No. She’d think about that, and everything else, later.

Frozen, she panted for breath so hard that she was surprised her breasts didn’t spill out of the strapless dress. She gave it a hard tug to be safe. No use adding flashing to her list of transgressions.

Tangled, hairspray-sticky curls covered her back and neck like a sweaty blanket. She was thankful she didn’t have a pair of scissors or she’d be tempted to hack it off. This day had been disaster enough; she didn’t need to add bad hair to the mix.

She sucked in a lungful of beer-laced air and glanced around the ancient, dimly lit bar. Worn paneling the color of driftwood baked in the sun too long looked as old and tired as the male patrons sprinkling the tattered landscape. There wasn’t a female in sight.

A trickle of alarm slid down her spine. Maybe she shouldn’t be here alone.

The thought flittered away when her attention fell on an empty stool. She’d be fine. Growing up with three older brothers had made her well schooled in the art of self-defense, and these guys seemed more interested in their drinks than in her.

Besides, she couldn’t walk if her life depended on it.

The bar loomed straight ahead. Its old, faded panels and black countertop could serve on any this-is-where-alcoholics-come-to-die movie set, but to her, it was nirvana. The distance to the stool grew exponentially the longer she stood on feet pulsing with pain. She gritted her teeth. It was only a few tiny steps.

She could do this. She’d already done the impossible.

She took one hobbled lurch, then another, until she was finally right where she wanted to be.

With a weary sigh, she plopped onto the round, cushioned stool. A slow hiss of air leaked from the seat as it took her weight. She closed her eyes. Heaven. She might never move again. An air-conditioned breeze brushed her overheated skin, and she just about groaned in sheer pleasure. Dropping her head into her open palms, she luxuriated in the pure joy of sitting.