“Hey, man, sorry about earlier.” Jason apologized as he climbed into my truck. When I saw my girl jump down from the cab of her truck, a yearning filled my chest. The next day, I went to the dealership and grabbed one for myself.
“No need to apologize. It's your job as her brother to protect her, just as I’ll do for Savannah.” As soon as his door closed, my foot found the floor, the gas pedal smashed in between.
Jason flings out his arms to steady himself, smacking his hand against the glass, and then reaching for the ‘oh shit’ handle, as I jump into traffic. “Dude, you’re gonna get us killed.”
Shooting him a slide glance, a wisp of a smile creeps onto my face. “Clearly you’ve never had to out run an RPG.”
I thought Jason's neck would snap from the force of him looking in my direction. Under any other circumstances, I would have found this situation amusing, giving him a reason to shit his pants. While breaking a number of traffic laws and nearly hitting a few cars, growing up in this area, I knew of a few short cuts to avoid traffic. The last two miles separating me from Kennedy housed a field partially owned by my Aunt. I ignored the dirt road since it would have taken us a few more minutes to get to the entrance of the stables. Choosing instead to cut through the field and across the dried up creek bed. I slam my truck in park as the white fence of the stables came into view.
Jumping over the fence, I didn’t care if Jason was on my heels or tossing his cookies in the loose gravel of the drive. Raised voices combined with the high-pitched sound of an upset horse guided me to the stall where Aunt Ella housed one of her more difficult horses. The sound of a scream and loud crash of wood made my world stand still as thoughts of an injured Kennedy filled my mind.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kennedy
Brushing the coat of a horse was a mindless task, one I've always enjoyed. My new friend, Hercules, loved to stand and let me brush him for as long as I needed, never giving a care which side I chose first. My favorite gentle giant gave me much more than what he got.
Mr. Hawthorne had phoned just as I got into my truck this morning, letting me know my testimony would not be needed due to Miss Greyson’s untimely death. As crazy as it sounds, I felt a hint of sadness for her family. Mr. Hawthorne didn’t supply many details surrounding what happened, but it didn't take much to imagine someone being killed while in jail.
A clicking sound from behind interrupts the marinating of my thoughts. Standing with his camera to his eye is Ethan. “You know, I fell in love with you the first time I took a picture of you grooming a horse.” Ethan lowers his camera, the worn strap around his neck, its logo lettering faded from years of use. A sly smile paints his lips as a gleam of something evil coats his eyes.
“Love is a four letter word.” I comment, pretending to be uninterested. I hope he will act like a professional and not the lunatic I'm afraid he is becoming. Hercules takes a step back, irritated by the interruption as my hand stopped moving along his back. “A word men like you toss around when you want to separate girls like me from our panties.”
Hercules begins to whinny from the stranger invading our space. Horses are known to have sensitivity when it comes to fear, and I am trying to keep my nervousness to a minimum.
“Had you given us a chance, you would know I am a man who gives my all to the woman I confess my feelings to.”
Looking over my shoulder, I grasped Hercules’s reins tightly in my fist, steadying my reserve, worried about what he was going to do. “Ethan, we've had this conversation, a few times. I don't have feelings for you.”
His head shakes from side to side as he pushes on the bottom half of the door; the latch catches, keeping him out, as he mutters an oath of his frustration. “You didn't give us a chance, Kennedy.” Reaching inside the stall, he pulls up on the latch until it gives and walks into the stall as if he owns the place, giving little concern for his safety or mine.
Hercules eyes grow large, his feet stomping hard against the floor of the stall. Ethan's eagerness to get inside the room causes the door to slam against the side of the stall. Ethan's momentum causes him to tumble in, tripping over his feet; increasing his aggravation and extracting more swear words.
I hear Ella call my name down the hall. If I don't answer, she will be here in less than fifteen seconds and I'm counting every single one of them. “Ethan, you can't be in here, it isn't safe.” I warn him. Hercules is now raising his front legs in his own form of alarm. Pulling at his reins, I try to calm him down.
“I suggest you listen to Kennedy, I've already called the sheriff and my nephew.” I wish her voice brought with it a level of comfort, but Hercules is now completely agitated.
“Whoa, boy.” My soothing is useless, as he has already made up his mind about the stranger bothering him. In a quick motion, Hercules pulls his front legs into the air, his eyes wide with fright as he comes down a few inches from where Ethan has stumbled. “Get out of here!” I shout, anger and worry filling my chest. I’m no match for the strength of this horse, but I refuse to let him hurt himself. Hercules once again rears up, this time kicking at Ethan, knocking the camera from its strap. A cracking noise sounds, followed by a cry of pain from Ethan.
“Kennedy, get out of there.” Ella orders, but I ignore her, trying again to calm the horse.
“Hey, boy, it's okay. Ethan is leaving.” I look over my shoulder in what I hope is an authoritative glare. “Get out of here! The next time he will aim for your head and, trust me, he won't care if he kills you.” I can see a cloud of dust coming down the road; it's either Zach or the sheriff. I’m hoping it’s Zach as the sheriff is more figurative than enforcive. “Go on, that’s the sheriff pulling up now.”
Hercules rears up once again, his hooves spinning wildly in a circle and I know he is going to do some major damage when he comes down. Ethan watches as the motion of the hooves change, deciding I'm serious about his intentions and jumps over the side of the door, running off into the pasture.
“Kennedy?” I hear Zach call my name, but I'm too concerned with a still angry horse. He knows Ethan is gone, but his adrenaline is still pumping and he wants to fight.
“It’s okay, big guy.” With the brush still in my hand, I try and see of he will calm down for another massage. The sound of heavy boots running down the wood floor of the hall tells me there is more than just Zach coming toward us.
“Babe, you okay?”
Hercules is breathing heavy and his muscles are tense, but he doesn't seem to want to rear up anymore. Brushing his back, I lower my voice as I talk to him, reassuring him he is safe and no one is going to hurt him.
“I'm good, Zach. Just give us a few minutes.” I don't dare look away from Hercules, not until I can assure him I'm okay. “He’s gone, no need to worry, big guy.” I can feel Zach’s eyes on my back, feel the apprehension from what he has witnessed.
“Kennedy,” Zach’s voice cautions, but I can’t turn around to look at him. “I don't like you so close to a pissed off horse.”
His concern is refreshing, something I've not experienced in a long time. Ella has rejoined the party, telling Zach how Ethan showed up and most likely broke something when Hercules kicked at him.
I hear the latch engage as Zach enters the stall, Hercules is still jumpy, but not as much as when Ethan was in here. “Hey, boy. Thanks for helping my girl.” Zach places his left hand on my shoulder, the warmth spreading across my shoulders and wrapping around my heart, while the right brushes the side of Hercules, assuring him he means no harm. “Remind me to get you a girl of your own, as a thank you for protecting mine.” Hearing Zach take possession of me, knowing he has such deep-rooted feelings for me, does something wild and primal inside of my soul.
“You okay?”
“Me or Hercules?” I tease, trying to rid the room of the tension.
“Hercules of course, why would I be worried about you?” For a tenth of a second, I consider he isn't teasing, using humor as his own form of releasing the tension. Sh
ifting my face over my shoulder, his worried eyes finding mine, cancels out every ounce doubt I created. His thumb caresses my cheek, soulful eyes searching mine. Hercules has become bored with us, as he knows the danger has passed, the oats in his pail gaining his attention once again.
“In all seriousness, are you okay?” His concern is real, his feelings for me valid and I want to take away the worry discoloring the handsome face he is blessed with.
“I swear,” placing my hand to his face. “I’m fine, Ethan left before Hercules could do any damage.”
Pulling me closer, his hands on my shoulders. “You scared the shit out of me. Not many people can lay claim to scaring me, but when aunt Ella called me, all I could think about was getting to you, making sure you were safe.” His lips descended on mine before I can assure him I really am fine. We both need this. Personally, I crave this, the closeness, the intimacy of his touch. “Don't do that again, scared isn't something I want to feel for you ever again.”
Tires on gravel remind me of the real world around us, “That's the sheriff.” I sigh against his chest, the feel of his lips against my forehead provide more comfort than the arrival of the police. “I’ll be right here beside you as you tell him what happened.”
Nodding my head against his chest, knowing the character of Sheriff Barnes and the way he handles most things around this county. He wears the uniform because it is what his family has done for generations. Each one exceeding the worthlessness of the one prior. “Not like it will help much.”
Zach holds my hand in his as Ella shows the deputy to where we are. Wesley Proctor and his five foot nothing stature, walk into the stall. Poised with his hands on the edge of his gun belt, his cowboy hat on his head and his mustache moving to the rhythm of his gum chewing. “Evening, y’all.” Flows from his lips, hidden behind the mammoth cluster of facial hair he calls a mustache. “Heard you had some trouble.”
Ella suggests we go to her office where we can all have a seat, so I tuck myself under Zach’s arm as we walk as a unit down the hall. Twenty minutes, three pages of Deputy Proctor’s notebook and several repeats of the same story later, Zach is on his feet as Wesley tells me not much can be done. “Explain to me, how you can stand there and tell us there is little your department can do about this?” I’ve seen Zach lose his cool on a customer, heard a few stories of how he handled things in the Marines. But to see him tower over Wesley, rage and disbelief in his voice, makes me jump with intimidation.
“Sir, as I explained to you and Ms. Kennedy, the man who you accuse of coming into the barn didn't harm anyone, didn't hit her or threaten her. The premises is considered public, so he wasn't trespassing.”
Zach stand with his hands on his hips looks to Ella and then back at me. “So what your sayin’ is he can come in here, walk into a stall where he doesn't belong, nearly injuring a horse and there is nothing you and your office can do about it?”
“No, Sir. I can't even open a case number on this.”
The deputy begins to shove his notebook into his back pocket, reaching for the handset attached to his collar board. “So if I tell you her father is John Forrester and she is dating the son of Dr. Jonathan Michaels, your answer will remain the same.” I hated name-dropping, something my mother and sister had mastered. I knew Zach felt the same way, so for him to stand before me, utter those words and not choke spoke volumes.
But not as loud as the way Deputy Proctor handed him his card, complete with a case number and his personal cell number. “Make sure you have your daddy file the paperwork, let him know I'd be honored to serve the order myself.”
***
Three days ago I called my mother, confirming she didn't have any plans for this afternoon. Her response would be considered brash, but given the source, she was pleased. Dad and I had agreed not to tell her about the incident at the stables. Ethan had been served with the paperwork the next morning at a hotel near my work. Sheriff Barnes called my father personally; apologized for any misunderstanding his deputy may have caused, came by his office and took the papers to serve Ethan himself.
"I have someone I would like you to meet." It was the only detail I would give her. She badgered me for nearly half an hour as to the identity of the person, but I stood firm. I wanted to set the stage for what I had in mind. Zach offered to drive in one of his family's more expensive modes of transportation, but I declined, opting for something a lot more risqué, more suited to the image I wanted my mother to witness.
"Kennedy, are you sure you don't want me to dress up? It's your family after all. I have a closet full of clothes, with names that would impress your mother and her friends."
Again, he was so wonderful. He cared enough to put himself into a situation, which would have made any gladiator turn and run. He was doing this for me, and my happiness. "Zach, I have never once seen you wear anything other than t-shirts and jeans, well, except for the occasional workout shorts. As much as I appreciate your willingness to dress to impress, I want her to meet my Zach."
I remember the day we moved into the estate where my mother lives. Once my father's practice took off, the success brought with it a few benefits. I never understood why he kept the downtown apartment we moved from after he built this for her. He would spend several nights back at the apartment, giving the excuse his meeting ran late and he didn't want to disturb us. Thinking back, it was his solitude. He placed my mother in a home where she could be queen to impress her transparent friends so they would like her, tolerate her would be more accurate.
Like a fortress, the heavily decorative iron gates came into view long before the house did. Mother insisted on the illusion, she wanted her visitors to anticipate their first glimpse of her castle. For me, it was more like a prison than a fairytale story.
Zach shut off the engine, allowing me to press the security call button without needing to shout. You could hear the humming of the camera as it focused in on the image of us waiting to pass through the gates. There was no mystery as to who was adjusting it for a better look. In a measure that would cause a huff to escape her lips, I removed the helmet Zach had secured before we left his house, smiling like a twelve-year-old fan girl at a meet and greet. With a thud, the gates slowly began to open, but the moaning of the metal was soon drowned out by the roar of Zach's engine.
How many hundreds of times have I traveled this very road, journeying to a place I once considered home? Now it was simply a visit, wrapped around the man who is now my solitude, just as the apartment is for my father.
As Zach rounded the final curve, a break in the trees revealed the stone facade of the house and with a pair of shadows stood under the awning. Mother never greeted any guests from the front entry, always wanting to make a grand entrance, complete with music if it wouldn't have been considered in poor taste. There she stood, in her white linen suit shipped from London or Paris, my sister Caroline beside her in nearly matching attire. Zach pulled to a stop shutting off the engine once again, but stayed seated atop the monster he called a bike.
Standing with pride and assurance, I tapped his shoulder letting him know I would be dismounting this beast. His arm extended in assistance to help me climb off. Once my boot-clad feet touched the cobblestone drive, a quick snap of the chinstrap and my brown hair was released in a title wave of curls. I placed the helmet on the seat pad, unzipping the leather jacket Zach had given me after dinner last night. He had me try it on, commenting on how sexy he found me, and increasing the need for the self-love session I participated in.
Her face reminded me of the time I forgot to put sugar in the lemonade I’d made for my dad. His poor face had contorted so badly when he took a large sip from the glass I gave him. "Kennedy, what is the meaning of this?" She pointed first at the motorcycle, and then at the handsome man who commanded it, while she spoke.
I turned in the direction of said man smiling as he had already taken off his own helmet, his hands smoothing over his hair that had grown in nicely since his discharge from the milit
ary. "I told you over the phone I wanted you to meet someone." My voice too jubilant, she was making this too easy, allowing me to enjoy this far too much.
"Honey, come meet my Mommy." Claudia Dwyer Forrester had many titles, but mommy was not one she allowed. It was mother or ma'am, but never mommy. Her disdain for the word made me want to say it over and over.
"That's far enough, Kennedy." Her arms now crossed under her surgically enhanced chest. She offered to have mine done when I turned sixteen, but thankfully the surgeon deferred until I became of legal age.
I ignored her instruction, adding fuel to the fire, as I took Zach's hand in mine climbing the stone steps toward the dais she had created. "Young man." I inwardly snickered at the words she chose. "You need to take that...that...death machine and leave the premises.” Snapping her fingers in my direction, “Kennedy, you will wait for me in your room." Once upon a time I would have lowered my head, shot her a quick, "yes ma'am", and followed her orders. Those days were over. Standing on the same steps where I took those orders, swallowing everything down to avoid her wrath, was a new woman. One who was in charge of her own destiny and in love with a man who treated her like she was the most valuable thing he owned.
"Are you asking him to leave?" I expected this, prayed she wouldn't disappoint me with her reaction.
"Yes, security will be called if he isn't back on that bike in ten seconds. Kennedy, really what has happened to you? You're a mess! You're...you're wearing jeans and leather!"
Her face is contorted in disgust despite the gallons of Botox she has injected; her nose was practically sticking straight in the air while motioning toward my clothing.
"You're certain he needs to leave? You don't want to offer him a cup of tea? Or a place at the dinner table?" She ignores my question, turns to Caroline and tells her to call security. With all of the crime that occurred in the area, security was more of a selling point than actual protection. The sight of the custom golf cart, complete with flashing blue lights, which whirled along with the electric motor and rain guard, made my smile brighten just a little.
Signed, SEALed, Delivered (Trident Brotherhood Book 1) Page 16
