The Forgotten Child

by Eckhart, Lorhainne

  Emily grinned like a silly schoolgirl, just thinking of Brad and how dedicated a father he could be. Heat pooled inside in her tummy until it ached. “Oh bad idea, girl.” And she knew why. He was her boss. She lived under his roof. But he didn’t treat her like an employee. He spoke to her like a friend.

  They’d developed a nightly routine, similar to spouses, companions. She’d put the kids to bed; join Brad either outside on the porch or in the living room. They’d talk about their day, their dreams.

  Brad planned to expand the ranch. Buy up the land around him, even though now he was one of the largest dairy producers in the area, and raising cattle for beef.

  She loved listening to his confident whiskey-filled voice when he holed up in his office, off the living room, making calls to arrange transport for a hundred head of cattle. Then a feed order, next his realtor, a burly bald-headed man named Chuck, to put in an offer on a twenty-acre piece of property on the other side of Mary Haske.

  Last night Brad told her the soil on that land was really good and the water pure, clean and plentiful. He’d also mentioned he was waiting for the day Mary put her property up for sale. When she did, he’d make sure it was his. A small parcel, but Mary’s husband had been sharp when he’d sold off most of his land. He’d held onto the best piece in this part of the peninsula; holding the water rights to the creek which flowed down to Brad’s property.

  Emily grabbed the salad out of the fridge. She closed door and nearly dropped the bowl. Trevor stood in the middle of the kitchen barefoot wearing nothing but a saggy disposable diaper, rubbing his eyes. “Oh Trevor, I didn’t see you.” She could smell the heavy ammonia from his dirty diaper. Emily lifted Trevor up. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her, as she started up the stairs. Halfway up, the screen door slammed.

  “Lunch ready?” Brad’s deep, soft voice tugged on her heart as if a line had knotted around it. She walked back down carrying his son.

  “Oh man, something smells good.” Cliff and Mac strode right behind Brad, both lifting their noses in the air, sniffing.

  “It is; I just need to change Trevor and wake up Katy.” Emily couldn’t erase the smile from her face if she wanted to.

  “Need help.” Brad yelled behind her as she trotted up the stairs.

  “Grab the salad dressing out of the fridge, everything else is ready to go.”

  “Okay.”

  Emily pulled off Trevor’s diaper and dumped it in the garbage; she helped him into his big boy underwear, a pair of blue sweats and Buzz Light-year T-shirt, leaving him barefoot. Katy wandered into the bathroom, pulled off her own dry diaper and sat on the toilet. Girls were almost self-training. “Lunch’s ready. Who’s hungry?”

  “Me, Mama.” Katy pulled up her pink sweats and flushed the toilet; Emily pulled up a stool to the sink, and helped Katy wash her hands.

  With the kids, Emily strode back in the kitchen. Cliff and Mac were already sitting at the table, digging into the fresh bread and butter. Brad cut up the roast, while Emily sat Trevor in his chair and Katy in her booster seat, dishing up the kids’ food and cutting it into bite size pieces. Emily put a spoon in Trevor’s hand, helping him to grip the handle. He still didn’t know how to use a spoon or fork. He preferred to eat with his hands. But Emily was relentless, working with him at each meal. In the short time she’d been here, they’d come from Trevor launching his spoon, screaming, to where he now took three or four bites from his spoon before dropping it. Emily would reward him after each successful small step with praise and a gummy bear.

  Today, it was as if he’d overcome some obstacle. He took the spoon without fuss or whining. Emily glanced over at Brad. “Did you see that?”

  “Great job, Em.”

  Except when Emily glanced down at Trevor, he now used his other hand to play the table like a piano. That was progress for you, one-step forward and another back. Brad curled his fingers around the back of the empty chair beside him, and pulled it out

  “Sit down, Em.”

  Every time he spoke. His deep, husky drawl was like music, turning her insides all soft and fluttery. Emily sat, very aware of his closeness, becoming a silly schoolgirl every time she passed him a bowl or plate of food and their fingers touched. And each time she looked up, he watched her in a way that was personal.

  Trevor tossed his spoon across the table, breaking the magic spell where it clanked and landed beside Cliff’s plate. At least it didn’t hit him. Last week his spoon hit Mac on the side of the head. Trevor, with his tiny fingers, mushed his potatoes and broccoli between his fingers, cramming a fistful in his mouth.

  “No.” Emily jumped up and leaned across the table, grabbing the spoon.

  “It’s all right Emily; he didn’t mean nothing by it.” Said Cliff in his raspy smokers voice followed by his nervous laugh.

  “Actually it’s not all right Cliff. Trevor can’t learn unless you stay vigilant.” Emily wiped the food from Trevor’s hand with a dishcloth and put the spoon back in his hand. “Try again.” Emily said as she scooped a piece of potato on his spoon, and then let go of his hand. This was a fine line with Trevor. There was only so much hand over hand you could do with him before he’d freak out from being touched.

  Trevor scooped up another piece of meat himself and shoved it in his mouth. “Good job Trevor. Eat.”

  When Emily glanced over at Brad, he was already finishing up his plate, guzzling down the last of his coffee and pushing away from the table—distracted again. The man was such a mystery; the way he changed from hot to cold, a difficult and complex man.

  “Great lunch Emily. Cliff, Mac, I’m going to need your help as soon as you’re done to move the horses. Don’t dawdle.”

  She’d be a fool to miss the annoyance that dripped from his sharp words. What the hell happened? Her heart sank a little as Brad went out the back door without a simple glance in her direction. Mac scraped up his plate and Cliff downed his coffee; both pushed away from the table nodding their thanks as they hurried after their boss. Brad teasing and thoughtful one moment, turned quicker than she could snap her fingers, to an irritable one; turning her world upside down, leaving her mystified as to what she’d done. Emily pushed her plate away. Well whatever it was, Emily was sure time scooping up manure would most likely take the edge off whatever bothered him, or so she hoped.

  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 ar
ms 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 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 a 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.”

  Heat filled her 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 tractorplowing 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 of his hat while he rested his hand lovingly on the 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 vetavailable 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. As 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.”

  Thi
s 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 had 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 shots 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 loyal soul.