"What do you want?"
"A girl."
He kissed my forehead.
"What would you want to name them?" he asked.
"Devon, if a boy. Kara, if it's a girl."
"I like them both." He turned his body toward me and slipped his hand into my pajama bottoms. "We better get to work, then."
A year went by and we still hadn't conceived. As much as I knew it would be a blow to his ego, I talked him into letting me make an appointment with a fertility doctor. After much chagrin and a couple beers, he agreed.
I made the appointment the next day. We were eager to start a family together and the farm was doing well, but the bad news from the fertility doctor was nothing compared to what I would soon feel.
Darrell came in from work early, leaving his best hand to manage things. We went to the appointment and took their tests. A few days later, results were in and I was incredibly disappointed to find I was the cause for our infertility. We were sent home with fertility options which I began right away.
We didn’t stop being hopeful for starting a family and with the added pressure to conceive, we did what we could to keep the intimacy fun. We got creative and found new ways to surprise each other. One night, he left a trail of rose petals through the entry way, up the stairs, and into our room where he had lit candles and purchased a massage lotion. I didn't waste any time letting him undress me and make use of the new sensual product.
I left him notes on the door for when he'd come home from running the farm. They'd give him hints of where to find me or sometimes there would only be a pair of my panties hanging on the knob.
With the farm doing well, I had the opportunity to focus on something I loved—horses. In the midst of our fertility struggle, Darrell bought me my first horse—a gray thoroughbred. I named him Merlin. I instantly fell in love with him. His temperament was like a sweet, old dog. I took him out riding often and even purchased a training pen and jumping blocks.
"You've done well with that horse. I think he's ready for his first competition."
I nibbled on our dinner, pleased with Darrell's approval.
"You think so?"
"Absolutely. There's a champion in that horse."
Pride filled my chest. "I'll look into where the next closest competition is. Would you come with us?"
He came behind me, kissing my cheek before taking my empty plate.
"Of course. I wouldn't miss it."
That night, I fell asleep in his arms, happy with the life we'd created together and hopeful for the family we wanted.
The next morning, Darrell slid my nightgown above my hips as he held my hands over my head, kissing my neck and loving my body with his lips. He slid inside of me and that familiar sensation of arousal swept over me. We laid in bed, kissing like we had in college. When he left, I ached for him to stay with me. Recognizing my agony, he returned to bed for more kisses and cuddling.
He ran his fingers through my hair and stared at me as if I were the most important thing in the world.
"I love you, Ames. If we can't have kids, I want you to know you're enough. You'll always be enough. I don't need anything more."
I laid kisses over his lips until he dragged himself away for a shower and to get ready for work. A while later, he left and I took Merlin out riding. I stopped Merlin at the top of the hill on our property so I could watch the rest of the sunrise. In that moment, I was incredibly happy, content, and loved.
After the bold, yellow sun had climbed its way into the gray-blue sky, I turned Merlin back for the barn. In the distance, I saw unusual activity—people running from the main barn. I sucked in a breath and pulled Merlin's reins when I saw flames explode from the barn. I put my heels into Merlin and forced him into a sprint. I cleared ground in minutes.
Merlin reared up at the exploding debris, nearly knocking me off. I drove him back and tied him down, trying to make sense of the commotion. Darrell's workers were screaming, trying to put fires out; one was calling emergency on their phone. I couldn't see Darrell anywhere. My chest constricted and my eyes frantically searched the crowd. I moved in toward his employees and screamed at them to tell me where Darrell was. They too searched for him. The looks on their faces told me what I dreaded. He was still inside. I sprinted toward the barn, my heart pounding out of my chest. Arms seized me and someone knocked me to the ground as another explosion erupted, sending debris flying past us.
I lifted my head toward the barn. It was completely consumed by flames. The sobs erupted from me. I pounded the ground, screaming for them to let go of me. More hands held tight to my body, pulling me back as tears blurred my vision. I fought to get loose and somehow kicked free. I ran toward the barn, willing to sacrifice my own life to bring him back.
I was tackled, my chin scraping gravel. One of Darrell's employees pinned me down as I wept into my hands.
I remember the next day so vividly. I laid in bed, clutching his pillow, breathing in his scent as tears streamed down my face. I hadn't accepted it. Darrell wasn't gone. He'd walk back in the house any minute, ready to settle down, have a beer and dinner with me. His strong arms would hug me and kiss my forehead and we'd talk about the competition he wanted me to enter. He'd tell me about work and make jokes. It would all be okay. We’d make love and he’d hold me in his arms until we both drifted off to sleep.
I laid like that for hours, unable to move, begging for Darrell to come back to me. The sound of the phone ringing drowned into the background as my sobs filled my ears. Only a day went by before people came knocking on our door. Employees came to check on my well-being and to ask if they still had their jobs. Neighbors and friends stopped by, bringing expressions of sympathy and words I didn't hear because the sound of my shattering heart eclipsed them.
The third day, I didn't answer the door. My phone rang wildly. I threw it against the wall and collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. I crawled to the closet and pulled his shirts all around me. My tears soaked the fabric until I fell asleep, too exhausted to cry anymore.
A soft hand caressed my cheek, waking me. Opening my swollen eyelids, I glimpsed my mother’s round, kind face and blue eyes through blurry vision. She didn't say a word, just cradled me in her arms as I cried again.
What seemed like hours later, she forced me into the shower and made me eat. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten and the smell of her cooking reminded me it had been a while. I silently nibbled on the food, pushing it around my plate as I tried to wrap my mind around the fact Darrell would never walk through the front door of our home again, never hold me in his arms, whisper in my ear, touch his lips against mine. I dropped the fork and pushed the plate away as tears rolled down my cheeks.
My mother silently rubbed my back and ran her fingers through my hair. An hour or maybe two later, I woke from where I sat at the table. My mother had cleared it, cleaned the kitchen, thrown out the neighbors’ casseroles I'd left on the counter. She'd called the funeral home and made arrangements for me to go there and pick out Darrell's coffin.
His coffin. I wept as soon as the words escaped her lips.
"Amy, darling, there aren't words for a tragedy like this. And I won't lie to you, it's not going to be easy. Darrell's affairs need taken care of, though. You'll need to sign paperwork, prepare his funeral, and decide what happens to the farm. I'll be by your side every step of the way."
"Why, Mom? Why was he taken from me? He loved me so much. I can't bear to go on without him."
The hole in my chest was a crater. I was empty. All I could do was cry and sleep. I couldn't fathom all the things that needed to be done.
"Honey, I don't know why terrible things like this happen. Darrell was an incredible man. He was taken far too soon."
I nodded as slow tears streamed down my cheeks. "He was incredible. He was my world."
My mother's hand took hold of mine. "You'll see him again and when you do, he'll be waiting with open arms."
I made my way through the next sev
eral days as a walking corpse. I hardly ate and when I did, it was very little and tear-soaked. My mom walked me through the insurance paperwork, buying a coffin, and scheduling the funeral date with the funeral home. With Darrell no longer here to run the farm, I gave each employee a severance check and apologized for having to close down. Most understood and only a couple left angry.
I told my mom I didn't want visitors and she followed those instructions except for one—my grandmother. She arrived with three full luggage bags. After piling them in the guest room, she started some tea. I was lying in bed when she brought it to me. She sat at the end of it, her familiar blue eyes stared at me, but not with pity, with empathy. My grandfather had died when I was in junior high. Grams had taken it hard. I remember Mom and me going over to her house often to spend time with her and to cook dinner.
"The moments when it's the hardest, you need to remember how much he loved you and how much he would want you to live."
I set the tea mug on the nightstand and crawled into her arms as the tears poured out of me.
"Grams, I can't do it. I can't do it without him."
She wrapped her little arms around me and rubbed my back. "I know, baby. Learning to live without him will take time, but it is possible."
Each day, my mother and grandmother dragged me out of bed, made me shower and eat. My depression had worsened as the funeral neared. I'd lost hair, lost weight, and had permanent bags under my eyes. I didn't even recognize myself in the mirror. The day of the funeral came and I moved through the events, completely unaware of anyone around me. With slow, painful steps, I walked to Darrell's coffin and ran my trembling fingers along the smooth finish. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. He wasn’t gone. He wasn’t lying inside this box. My knees buckled beneath me. I collapsed over the coffin, sobbing hysterically. Hands took hold of my arms and assisted me out of the room.
I curled into a ball along the wall, heaving short breaths, trying to compose myself. My grandmother fanned me as my mother brought me water.
"You have to calm down, sweetheart. You need to speak with family and friends."
"Why?" I bit back. "So I can hear over and over how sorry they are for my loss? It means nothing to me. I just want him back."
My grandmother's sad eyes met mine. "Do it for Darrell. Let others have peace with his death."
With those words and my mother and grandmother's arms tucked into mine, I walked back into the room and stood numb as one person after another gave me expressions of sympathy and words that meant very little to me.
After the funeral, my mother, father, and grandmother returned to my house with me. My father took a walk out to the farm and returned in time for dinner.
"When is the last time you rode Merlin?" he asked.
"The day of Darrell's death. I think I'm going to sell him."
My father shook his head. "Don't. You'll regret it. You should go out and see him. I think he misses you."
Hearing those words sent something other than sorrow and depression through me. I felt guilt. After dinner, I walked out to Merlin's barn and he huffed and stomped his feet as though he were angry with me for not having come to see him for a week. Thankfully, Mom had taken care of him after the employees had left. I opened the barn door and his gate and let him out to pasture. He ran, grateful for the long-awaited freedom. I watched his graceful stride and the evening sun cast over his shiny, gray coat.
I didn't understand how I could even think of getting rid of him. He was a gift from Darrell and something that brought me joy as I thought of him. He returned to me, nudging his muzzle against my shoulder. I rubbed his face, cheek, and neck. I picked up a brush from inside the barn and eased into mindless strokes over his shoulders and back.
Merlin drew in a breath and let it out slowly, sighing. He'd clearly missed this simple grooming activity and it offered me a brief reprieve from my sorrow. After a clean coat and a treat, I returned him to his stall. Dad walked up behind me and outstretched his long arms. I collapsed into them.
"Amy, I know my words may not soothe you like your mother's can, but I'm here for you, pumpkin. Whatever you need."
His embrace and long strokes over my head and hair were all I needed. I sobbed into his chest as he silently held onto me, giving me the fatherly affection I needed. Moments later, he eased me out of his arms and held onto my shoulders.
"Amy, this farm…it's too much for you to take on. Why don't you move back home with us?"
I shook my head. There was no way I could leave. Everything about Darrell was still here. As long as I stayed, I still had a piece of him with me.
"I can't, Daddy. I don't want to leave."
He didn't argue, simply nodded as though he understood. "All right, but you'll need to downsize and sell all the equipment. You could sell a couple of the fields. After that, you could probably stay here comfortably. The insurance will be enough to pay off the house."
My father stepped in when I needed him most. He helped me through all the deals and when the insurance check arrived I used it to pay off the house. The rest I put away in savings while I figured out what was next.
That wasn't easy. I still struggled to make it out of bed every morning. I refused to wash the bed sheets because they still smelled like Darrell. Every day, I'd walk into the closet and pull his shirts in close, just to have his scent around me. Then, the nightmares came. I'd wake, drenched in sweat, with a deep ache throughout my muscles. Each one was as terrible as the last. I'd see him in the fire and I could never reach him; I could never stop the flames from consuming him. I cried myself back to sleep and sometimes my grandmother would hear me sobbing. She'd boil tea and bring it to me and rub my back as I swallowed my breaths, gasping for air.
When the nightmares began, my depression slid further into darkness. I'd walk out to the burned and crumpled barn and I'd wish I had been taken instead. I'd collapse into the ash and broken debris, sobbing into my shirt.
My grandmother brought food out to me one evening as I sat, staring over the burned barn, into the falling sun. She wrapped a blanket around me and handed me a warm mug of tea. She sat next to me and then asked a question I hadn't expected.
"What's next, Amy?"
I turned my swollen, tired eyes to look into the same blue eyes I saw in the mirror.
"What do you mean?"
"You'll be twenty-four soon. You have many more years to live. I'm asking you, what's next? It's time for you to start thinking about it."
I shook my head, half-angry, half-shocked. I couldn't believe she was telling me to move on already.
"Grams, you don't understand. I don't have interest in anything. I wish it was me that had died instead."
My grandmother wrapped her arm around me. "The pain you feel when you think of him, it will never go away. He will always own your heart, but you must live, Amy. It's what Darrell would want. He would not want you wasting away. He'd want you to find something that brings you joy. He'd want you to live."
I lowered my head as tears slowly trickled down my cheeks. As much as it pained me to even think about what I would possibly do with my life now that Darrell was gone, I also knew she was right. If Darrell could speak to me, he'd caress me tenderly, tell me he loved me and that I must carry on, if not for myself, then for him.
Clutching the warm tea in my hands, I watched the purple and pink sunset fall below the horizon.
The next day, I woke from my usual nightmare, but successfully managed to drag myself to the shower. I even opened the fridge for the first time in three weeks and made eggs for breakfast. My mother and father had returned home to their jobs and their lives, but Grams had remained behind. She put on a pot of tea while I ate.
"I'm going to call a contractor today to remove what's left of the barn."
She nodded as she read through the morning paper. "I think that's a good idea." She folded the newspaper and slid it toward me and pointed out a particular section. "It's a shame, that this horse should die because o
f its wound. I'm sure it still has life left in it."
Staring down at the black and white picture of the horse drew me to the sale blurb at the bottom, as well as the contact. I didn't know why, but I felt an immediate connection to the horse in the picture. I desperately wanted to save it. Was it an effort to save myself? Probably. But it was my first step towards Grams’ question of “what's next?”
I called the owner of the horse before the contractor. He invited me over to look at the gelding. I brought my trailer with me, because I knew if the man said yes, I'd be taking him home with me.
After some negotiating, I exchanged several bales of hay, feed, and a few thousand dollars for the horse. It was a small price to pay to have him in my life. Ransom, a stunning black and white Gypsy Vanner, was a show horse and had taken a severe injury to his leg. He was then sold and used as a trail horse. Arthritis and a re-injury had made him no longer valuable to the owner. Without the money or time to nurse him back to health, the owner felt he had no choice but to either sell him or put him down.
As the contractor removed what was left of the commercial barn, I distracted myself by brushing out Ransom's coat and making sure he got a healthy mix of feed. I wrapped his leg and made a trip to the vet. I picked up supplements I knew would give his body the boost it needed and scheduled a physical for both horses. The vet was more than happy to come out to my property, especially when I told her I'd just purchased a Gypsy Vanner.
Andrea, the veterinarian, was a kind woman a few years older than me with a short and robust stature. She had shoulder length, dark-brown hair she always kept tied back. The day she came over to meet Ransom and Merlin, she was ecstatic about their beauty.
"You've taken good care of Merlin. He's sturdy and his coat is stunning." She moved over to Ransom. "Wow, Mrs. Flanders, he's a beaut. Is he putting on weight with the mix you’re feeding?"
"He is, but he could use a teeth floating? Do you offer that?"
"I do. I offer power floating. I can schedule a time to do both of them."
Fire On The Farm (Second Chance Cowboy Romance) Page 2
