Page 1 of First Chance

Chapter One

Jo

“Don’t smile the entire time, you’re not auditioning. But smile at appropriate times so you seem equal parts sincere and endearing,” my muttered words echo around the interior of my BMW. My scattered thoughts cannot be contained inside my head.

My Ballet Pink manicure taps rhythmically against the steering wheel, not to the beat of the song playing through my speakers, but matching the jitters coursing through my veins. A flutter of nerves that has only increased the closer I get to my destination.

“Let him know how important this is, but don’t seem desperate.”No one cares about your problems, Jo. Not like you do.A notorious bit of advice from my mother.

“Your destination is on the left,”my navigation quips, cutting through my compulsive rehearsing.

I turn off the pavement onto a dirt drive, braking in front of the black metal gates looming before me. The entrance is as ominous as the rumors about this place, Second Chance Sanctuary. A privately owned black bear rehabilitation center that has become animal andhuman-centered.

The sanctuary was created to help the high concentration of bears in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Residents know to keep their trash locked up and their eyes peeled on the roadways, but the bears are still subjected to encroachment and the carelessness of humans.

They’re known to be hit by vehicles, poached by hunters, and the victims of the occasional accident reported by the timber companies.

According to an online article I read from years back, Mr. Dane hired ex-cons to help him take care of the black bears when the business was in trouble. The news of it went statewide when he started hiring newly released felons and repeat offenders before they fell through the cracks.

Information about this place is aloof. Other than the occasional smear article, there isn’t information released to the public. Hence the ominous rumors.

I don’t believe rumors. I’ve been subjected to enough of them to know that relying on facts is much more efficient. Facts don’t lie. Facts don’t have any ulterior motives. Facts cannot be swayed by an agenda.

My foot relaxes on the brake, letting my bumper creep forward a few feet until the tall wrought iron bars start moving. The hinges creak loudly from effort and years of use as the gate opens.

There’s a moment of hesitancy. Brake or accelerate. Forward or backward. Once I go through these gates, everything changes. I’m taking steps to change my life.

Forward.

The gravel and dirt mixed terrain isn’t ideal for my luxury sedan, and I feel each rock under my tires as the loose bits in my car rattle and sway dramatically until I brake again.

I’m not sure where to go. There’s an old farmhouse to my right and a large barn to my left with various outbuildings scattered about. They’re all mismatched and unidentifiable.

The largest barn is gray metal and looks the newest. The one next to it has to be no less than 100 years old, with its missing boards and deteriorating facade. The other buildings are smaller, probably not classified as barns, but I’m not sure what the criteria is. I should Google it later.

No, not important.

What is important is the giant man stalking towards me. I hardly give myself time to shift into park before scrambling out of my car.

His dark hair is long, curling across his temples wildly and past his ears. His beard is unkempt, hanging below his chin. His eyes, though… They’re as dark as his scowl.

Hi, I’m here for my interview. No.

Hello, my name is–

“This is private property,” he states, thunderously cutting off my internal dialogue. His deep voice reverberates through me like an earthquake, throwing me off balance.

That wasn’t part of my rehearsed conversation, and I don’t have a quick response. “Oh, yes. I mean, I know,” I mutter, stepping awkwardly from around my car.

“What’s your business here?”

My business?

“I’m here for an interview?” I can’t stop it from coming out in the form of a question. It seems like the appropriate response, but his stance doesn’t relax. His hands stay sturdy, balled into fists across his chest.

“Must be a mistake, there are no jobs for you here.” He turns his back on me and starts walking away before evengiving me a chance to respond.

“I got an email to be here at 1:00!” I shout after him, and his feet stop so suddenly that it kicks up the dirt, making dust particles catch the sunlight all around him.

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