From the Heart: Romance, Mystery and Suspense a collection for everyone (8 page)

Chapter Fifteen

“You need a spare room that’s quiet for therapy. A room to put all the teaching supplies and toys you use only for therapy,” Pam, a tall thin lady and mother to a fourteen-year-old autistic boy, said. She’d driven down from Olympia.

“We have lots of room here.” Brad had been polite, and maybe a little taken back by this woman who headed the local parents’ group. She’d already arranged for her consultant to visit Trevor, to assess and set up programming. She was a doer who could set your head spinning for what she’d accomplish in five minutes.

“Brad, what about the bedroom at the end of the hall upstairs. The one filled with boxes and furniture.” A dark shadow fell over his face, his eyes flinched and took on a hardness Emily hadn’t seen before.

Emily poked around in there the other day and came across some extremely fashionable woman’s clothes, stacked high in the closet. A cedar chest tucked in the corner filled with baby clothes. “I’m sorry, if you’d rather that room not be used, I’m sure something else
--”

He cut Emily off. “No. Use the room. I’ll have Mac clear it out.” He’d shut down and packed away the flash of fury she’d swear had reared its ugly little head. Maybe she imagined it.

Pam was looking at them in a way that said she, too, picked up on a problem. But to her credit, she dropped her eyes and started scribbling notes in her spiral-bound notebook. “When the consultant comes to visit, you’ll want to have it sorted out. Also, line up some therapists. Tamara will start training after she assesses Trevor.”

“But I haven’t got a diagnosis for autism yet. Isn’t all this a little premature
?” Brad crossed his arms his face was all business.

“By the time you jump through all the hoops needed to get your kid diagnosed, you’ll have wasted precious therapy time. The key is early intervention. The earlier Trevor starts, the best chance he has for a positive outcome. If it’s about money
--”

“No, we’ll start. Money’s not an issue if it’s what’s best for my boy. I’ll pay
. I don’t care what it costs.” And so they did. For the next two hours, Emily took notes, distracted the children, and started implementing all Pam’s suggestions for help with Trevor.

Chapter Sixteen

The soft lilt of Faith Hill singing Let Me Let Go, roused Emily from her sleep. Rolling over, she quickly flicked off the radio before kicking back the soft duvet. Emily was a morning person. But for some reason this morning, she could have yanked the quilt over her head and drifted back to sleep. She didn’t, even though thoughts of crawling out into the morning chill curled her toes and wiped away the last of her fairytale dream—her knight swooping in on his white horse and carrying her away.

Emily pulled on her robe over her horsey flannel pajamas and crept into the bathroom for a quick shower. After her shower, Emily crept past Brad’s closed door, tying her damp hair back in a ponytail, wearing her sneakers, blue jeans and a light red sweatshirt and tiptoed downstairs. She cranked the heat and listened to the furnace kick in. The floor creaked above her. Brad’s up. She made coffee as she listened to the water run upstairs. Brad liked to grab a coffee on his way out the door to feed the animals.

Emily got busy making breakfast, oatmeal in a big pot on the stove. Then hurried to the back porch and pulled out a loaf of bread from one of two freezers for toast. Since Emily started cooking, Cliff and Mac appeared like shirttail relatives for every meal. Brad clomped down the stairs and Emily’s palms began to sweat.

“Good morning, Em.” Emily forced herself to look up into sleepy eyes that would be a dream to wake up to. Brad cleared his throat and Emily snapped out of her daze, blinking as her face tingled a little on the warm side. Emily looked down and snatched up the wooden spoon. Look somewhere else. Maybe she should’ve moved. Brad reached around her and took a mug from the cupboard, and then reached around her other side for the pot of coffee that
’d just finished brewing. “Can I pour you one?”

Damn, why’d he have to smell so good? He hovered right in her space and her dratted tongue refused to move
. Answer the man. “Yes.”

He didn’t move
, and when she looked up, he winked. And curse it all, she was blushing. She couldn’t shake the feeling of roses, candlelight and good man to cuddle up with. That was the effect this man had on her. Did he know? Maybe that’s why he appeared so amused. Grabbing hold of her senses, she poked him in the ribs to break the spell he cast over her. “Where’s my coffee?”

Brad didn’t reply. He grinned in a sexy way, showing off his chipped front tooth, which on anyone else would have tarnished their appeal, but not on Brad. On him, it added a sense of mystery
, making you want to get know everything about him. Brad broke the spell when he grabbed another mug. “Did you sleep okay?” How could any woman ever walk away from the deep velvety caress of his voice?

“Yes I did. I realized this morning, Katy’s been sleeping through the night since we’ve been here. Since being in this house, not once has she woken up in the night.”

“Katy wake up a lot in the night?”

“Uh-huh, ever since she was born. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I wasn’t awakened in the night.” Brad didn’t move. She’d have to duck under his arm to get past him.

“You have beautiful eyes, Em.”

Caught off guard, h
eat filled Emily’s face, and this time, he turned away looking like he was having fun. “I need to feed the cattle.” He didn’t stop until he reached the door. He paused long enough to down the rest of his coffee, drop the mug on a shelf, grab his coat and stride out the door.

What the hell was that?

Chapter Seventeen

Mary Haske arrived after breakfast. She hung up her light jacket in the hall closet, dressed so neat and tidy for cleaning. Brad had just left to feed the horses. Emily could hear the tractor plowing its way to the fenced off fifteen acres, filled with trees, a meadow and a creek, containing Brad’s twenty five horses—a paradise for a horse to live this close to nature, with room to run.

“Emily, why don’t you take a break? Go on out for a walk on this beautiful property. I’ve got Trevor and your little angel; I’ll watch them for you.”

Emily tossed down the sponge she’d used to wipe the counter. She loved this property, the animals and the horses. “You know what? I will. Thank you.”

Emily grabbed a coat of the hook and Mary shooed her out the back door. Emily was halfway across the field, her hands shoved in her pockets when she heard Brad yell. Emily hurried to the fence line. A crop of trees surrounded the tractor and several horses seemed to gather around one spot.

“Brad, is everything all right?” She shouted.

“Rusty broke his leg.” Rusty was a twenty-year-old quarter horse appaloosa mix, Brad’s horse, the one he always rode. Emily hurried to the gate.

“Emily, grab a couple halters and come in here. Close the gate behind you.” Emily grabbed three halters with lead ropes attached from the hooks by the gate and then slipped inside, stepping through the muddy track, puddles and damp brush in her new, white running shoes.

Brad was on the other side of the tractor, a bale of hay in the teeth of the loader, waiting to be dropped in the large feeder. Horses surrounded Brad and Rusty, who stood in a small crop of brush with a few small branches sticking out. The closer she got, she could see the blood seeping from a gash just below his hip. Brad yelled at the small dark Arabian who wouldn’t leave Rusty’s side.

Emily had to push her way through the horses. “Here, I grabbed three.”

Brad took the blue halter and slung it on the Arabian.

“Em, I need you to hold Smoky for me.” He handed her the lead rope. “Just pull him back, keep him back until I tell you, I need to get a better look.” Brad used a soothing voice as he ran his hand down the horses flank. Blood covered Brad’s hand and the horse nickered, a sorrowful sound that squeezed the peace right out of Emily’s soul.

“How bad is it?” Smoky yanked on the lead rope and swung his backend around. Emily had to yank a few times on the rope to back him up.

Brad hung his head, took
off his hat while he rested his hand lovingly on Rusty’s back. “It’s bad. I’m going to have to put him down.”

It became one of those moments
, when the hurt surrounding her felt as if her heart shattered into a hundred pieces. His hand shook as he pulled out his cell phone.

“I need to speak with Doc Vander’s, it’s Brad Friessen… What the hell? No, this is an emergency. Isn’t anyone filling in for him…? Okay, give me his number.” Brad ended the call. He didn’t face Emily. She could see he was struggling to hold it together, the way a man does who’s determined to be strong. He punched in some numbers. “This is Brad Friessen; Doc Vander’s office gave me your number. I’ve got to put my horse down
; he’s got a bad break on his hind leg just above the knee. No, he’s stuck in some brush. Three hours? I’m not waiting, and letting my horse suffer for that long. Yah, right, thanks for nothing.” Brad hung up and squeezed his phone, shaking his fist in the air.

When he faced Emily, he wouldn’t look right at her. He stared off to the side
, but she didn’t miss the sheen of tears that glossed over his eyes. “The vet’s on holidays and the closest vet available is on a call in Olympia, and can’t get here for three hours. I’m going to have to put him down myself.”

Emily didn’t know what that meant
, but she figured Smoky did. He yanked again, this time getting away, almost dragging Emily with him. He flanked Rusty’s side once again, rubbing his nuzzle up and down Rusty’s neck, as if to comfort him.

Brad stepped away from Rusty. He took off Smoky’s lead rope so he wouldn’t trip. “Let him say goodbye.”

This time when Brad stepped closer, she could see the agony of what he needed to do. She’d heard stories of putting your animals down, but never experienced such a loss. “Brad, are you sure, can’t his leg heal? Can’t you just wait till the vet gets here? Can’t we do something for him?”

Brad shoved his hand through his hair and tightened his lips to a thin line. Then put his black cowboy hat back on his head. “No Emily, there’s nothing I can do. His rear leg’s broke, just above the knee, and that gash is a branch that poked right through him. If he was a young horse, maybe surgery could be done. He’s too old. It wouldn’t be fair to him and he’s lost too much blood. It’d be cruel to make him suffer.” Brad started around Emily. “I’m going to need you to hold Smoky back when I put him down.”

“Where are you going?” Brad didn’t turn around.

“To get my gun.”

Chapter Eighteen

How did one respond to the reality of what was about to happen. Emily climbed into the tractor while Brad hurried back to the house. The horses knew something. Smoky was nose to nose
, then side to side with Rusty, as if holding him up. And Rusty, his head drooped as if he knew his time was almost up. The other horses lingered close, about a dozen surrounded Rusty and Smoky, forming a circle of protection. It was magnificent, mesmerizing and heartbreaking to watch this procession. They called out to one another, whinnying and snorting. But she’d no idea what they were thinking.

When Brad hurried back, Cliff trailed behind him, his ratty felt hat pulled down low over his eyes
, and his plaid jacket buttoned up. He put the lead rope back on Smoky. The horse fought Cliff as he led him away from Rusty.

“Emily, don’t look.” Brad yelled.

Emily ducked her head and shut her eyes, tears streamed down. She jumped from the shot’s blast, covered her mouth, and couldn’t hold back a whimper. She gazed through a film of tears at Brad standing over Rusty, his beloved horse, lying in a heap in the brush. Smoky reared up and snickered in the most agonizing way. The other horses swung their tails but did nothing else, a few of them pulled out a mouthful of straw from the loader. But it was the silence in the trees, in the brush and the meadow, as if the land was guiding home a gentle spirit and mourning the loss of such a kind and loyal soul.

Brad lowered his gun, allowing it to dangle from his side. He fisted his other hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips trembled
, as he swiped away a stray tear with his coat sleeve.

Emily climbed down from the loader. And then Brad was right behind her. His face filled with
immeasurable sorrow. “I need you to help Cliff after I put the hay in the feeder. Hold the horses back while I dig a hole to bury Rusty.”

Her throat tightened, she couldn’t get anything out. So could only nod. Brad climbed up and started the tractor, the loud diesel drowned out everything. Emily backed away while Brad drove the thirty feet to the feeder and dropped in the round of hay. He backed away. The horses were so used to the tractor; they walked around it to the feeder. Except for Smoky, a bay mare and a white Percheron, they hovered over Rusty.

“Emily, hold Smoky while I grab these other two!” Brad shouted, just as Mac dashed through the gate.

Smoky yanked on his lead. Emily led him further away. Cliff had halters and lead ropes on the other two horses and moved them back. Brad moved in and used the front of the loader to dig a hole beside Rusty. Mac took the Percheron. Blood covered the ground where the horse lay unmoving. Emily buried her face in Smoky’s neck who now stood calmly beside her. It was horrible
, watching Brad slide the horse into the hole and then bury him. She knew this was life on a farm with animals, but she’d never experienced such loss in her life. How could ranchers and farmers deal with this so calmly? She’d always bought her meat at the supermarket wrapped in plastic. You didn’t see the cow or chicken still walking around before slaughter.

Brad touched her arm. “Emily, thanks for your help. Go on back to the house. We’re done here.”

He took the halter off Smoky. The horse wandered over to the grave, and stood. The other horses would eat, and then wander over and stand by the grave. Brad jumped back in the tractor, yelling orders at Cliff. Emily ran out the gate, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t stop until she reached the house. Life moved on; they had no time to grieve. Emily stood on the back step and looked back. The tractor, Cliff, Mac and Brad had already moved on.