Danger Deception Devotion The Firsts

by Lorhainne Eckhart

  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, who’s determined to be strong, does. 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. Yeah, 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 vacation, 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 broken, 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 onto 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’s 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, but 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 nickered, 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. She 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.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Eyes looking, Trevor.” Emily gestured her hand to the child-size chair in front of the kid table set up in the new therapy room upstairs, in the larger, fifth, bedroom at the far end of the hall.

  When Trevor didn’t respond, but continued to flit around the room barefoot, muttering under his breath some recent line to a Barney cartoon, Emily gently touched his arm and guided him to the chair. “Sit down.” And he did sit, but then began to rock side to side tipping the chair, which fortunately rapped on thick carpeting, cushioning the noise.

  Trevor was out of sorts, and had been since his appointment this morning with Jane, the speech and language pathologist, a short curly-haired red head. From the moment she walked in the living room and sat down on the dark leather sofa, Trevor had performed his monkey routine, climbing on the furniture, the chairs, to the floor on all fours and hooting like an elephant, or was it a dog today? She wasn’t sure.

  Two others, a man and woman, had accompanied Jane,
all part of the diagnostic team to officially diagnose Trevor. One was an intern; a dark haired man with a trimmed beard, which she supposed was to make him appear older and more distinguished, but failed miserably. Instead, he looked like a wet-behind-the-ears twenty-year-old. The other woman was an occupational therapist, scrawny with prematurely gray short-cropped hair. She too, was observing. Right after introductions were made and Brad and Emily sat in opposite corners of the living room; it all fell apart. The occupational therapist had accepted the coffee Emily offered and sat quietly, appearing shy and a little nervous, on the couch. Trevor jumped from behind the couch onto her shoulders, and then rolled beside her and tried to crawl onto her lap. Her coffee flew out of her hands, landing on the coffee table, which was covered with pamphlets and papers on autism, now coffee-soaked. The good thing was, at least the mug didn’t break. Emily dashed into the kitchen and grabbed a dishtowel beside the sink, and hurried back to wipe up the puddle now dripping from the table onto the floor. Brad, his hardened face flushed pink, stepped in and yanked Trevor off.

  Trevor whined and kicked his heels at Brad. Brad smashed his lips together so tight they formed a fine white line. Emily’s stomach turned into one hard knot as she picked up on Brad’s obvious stress.

  Jane perched on the edge of the leather sofa. Her back ramrod straight, she dropped her bag on the floor beside her feet, and rested both hands on her jean-clad knees. “Put Trevor down, he wasn’t harming anyone, and maybe Dad should step out so we can assess him without interference.”

  Brad froze, and Emily’s mouth fell open, as she crouched on her knees holding the soggy towel, now dripping on her faded blue jeans. Now, to Brad’s credit, he said nothing. But the fire sparking in his magnetic, stormy eyes said it all to Emily. He was going to blow. Emily struggled to her feet. She needed to say something, anything in his defense.

  He looked at her with the same steel hardness he leveled on Jane. “Don’t” And of course her heart ached from his hurtful rebuff. She understood now the boundaries she’d crossed, he wouldn’t be defended by a woman. He put Trevor down beside Emily, held up both of his hands in a show of surrender, and abruptly left through the kitchen, out the back door, slamming it so hard the lights in the kitchen flashed. The feeling of anger trailing behind him filled the air with a noticeable stench, putting Emily’s teeth on edge.

  Trevor pulled away and bounced back over to the uncomfortable OT, who’d become a magnet for Trevor. His structure had been changed; he didn’t know what was expected of him. Hell, neither did Emily, as she gawked like an awkward schoolgirl at these three gangly professionals. Trevor was a magnet; picking up on everyone’s anxiety. Hers included. And Katy, now yanking on Emily’s brown T-shirt, began to whine until Emily picked her up.

  The two hours Jane and her lackeys stayed seemed like eight. When they finally left, Emily was so wired; it left her muscles and bones physically weary. Lunch was a pathetic ensemble of build your own sandwiches, which Brad never showed up for anyway.

  After Trevor woke from his late morning nap, Emily worked on some basic receptive skills with Trevor, but now he stopped rocking and slid off the chair onto the floor, as if he were a limp rag doll. Emily scooped Trevor up and sat him in the chair holding tight to his upper arms not allowing him to slip off. “Awesome job Trevor, you sat! Here, you earned this to play with.” She handed him the tape measure he was so fond of, he yanked it out and let go, while it whizzed closed, over and over.

  The occupational therapist, who’d tagged along with Jane as part of the team this morning, insinuated that following through with Lovaas ABA therapy, the therapy provided by the new consultant, would in fact harm Trevor. He needed to be left alone and he’d develop in his own time, naturally, he’d make his own friends as he saw fit. It was a good thing Brad had left.

  Emily had been furious and kicked a stuffed animal across the floor after they’d walked out the door. Why couldn’t these industry professionals start working together? When would they get with program and all realize this is about the best outcome for Trevor, all autistic kids—check your egos at the door.

  Her head pounded as she watched Trevor, now scooting across the floor on his knees. Today seemed like the saying: “one-step forward and three back.” And where was Brad?

  Chapter Twenty

  The dinner dishes were washed and put away. Emily scrubbed the kitchen table and counter. The sun dipped below the horizon, lighting the sky a beautiful shade of pink and orange. Emily listened at the bottom of the stairs for any rustling from the kids. Nothing—good, they were fast asleep.

  Dinner had been quiet and tense, even though Emily made, Brad’s favorite, pork chops. For her, it was just a small effort to ease some of the humiliation he’d experienced this morning. He’d only picked at his dinner. After about ten minutes, he’d pushed his plate away and got up from the table without a backward glance, doing something he never did—leave food on his plate.

  Walking to the back door, he paused before opening the door, “I have work to do. Thanks for dinner, Em.”

  “You’re welcome.” Then he was gone.

  Emily stepped outside onto the front porch. The cool night air nipped through the light brown sweater she’d draped over her shoulders. Sitting on the wooden swing, she rocked back and forth. She lifted her chin toward the sound of crunching gravel. Only Brad sounded so confident and surefooted. Emily caught sight of Brad’s outline as he paused right before the steps.

  “Nice night, are the kids asleep?”

  “Not a peep out of them. It didn’t take them long. Join me.” She motioned to the chair beside her.

  He looked straight at the front door. He wants to escape, he’s embarrassed. “Please, Brad.”

  He took off his worn cowboy hat and played with the brim in a way so unlike the confident, in-control man. “Okay, Em.” He strode toward her. Instead of sitting, he rested his booted foot on the chair right beside her, resting his forearm on his knee, and then brushed his hat against his leg as if knocking out all the dust.

  Emily took a deep steady breath, and pulled out the elastic tying her hair back, allowing her brown wavy hair to swoop down over her shoulders. It was kind of romantic. When Emily looked up the moon had cast a circle of light around them. Brad reached out and touched a strand of her hair, rubbing it gently between his thumb and fingers. Then he tilted her chin up. Her breath was stuck somewhere around the hard lump jamming her throat. Her heart pounded; he was so close now. He leaned down, closing the awkward gap between them and captured her lips in a sweet, tender kiss, so light, his breath warm. He slid his hand around the back of her neck to her shoulder, and lifted her until she stood before him. His hands slid down her back and his arms tightened into an embrace, as he traced her lips with his tongue to gain entrance. With a gasp, she opened her mouth allowing him access. He deepened the kiss and pulled her tighter to him. His hands slid farther down her back and cupped her bottom. A possessive, bold move, his desire pressed hard against her. He dropped his arms and backed away, one step, then two, breaking the off-the-charts kiss; out of breath, both of them breathing heavily, as if they’d just run a marathon.

  “I’m sorry, Em. I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

  She stepped forward reaching up, she touched his cheek. “Please, don’t stop.”

  He was so tall. Her head barely reached his shoulders. But that didn’t stop her from reaching up and trying to pull his head back down to her, except he wouldn’t bend.

  “Are you sure, Em? This is what you want?”

  His whiskey-colored eyes looked amber in the moonlight. The words stuck in her throat, as though lodged in something thick and gooey. Emily swallowed past the hard lump. Her invitation must have been clear because he threaded his fingers through her hair. Gripping the back of her head as he pulled her to him, reclaiming her mouth like it was his right and she was his woman, a possessive familiarity Emily had never experienced. His deep, intense kiss shed all sense of sanity and tur
ned her knees to putty. Brad must have sensed her slipping, and tightened his arms around her waist, holding her hard against him.

  She clutched wildly to his shirt and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Her mind fogged. All she could think about was how great her need for him was—a need stifled for so long; she’d lost all control over the situation. A slight whimper sounded from somewhere deep inside of her. Brad pressed into her, every hard inch of himself. Oh, God, how she wanted this—him. There was something about this man, and oh, yes, he was very much a man, that left her screaming and rejoicing as his tongue danced with hers. Oh, my, could this man kiss. Maybe that was why her mind allowed dark doubts to creep in, asking her how he could really want her. You’re just a phase, a momentary distraction. Shut up, stop thinking so much, she told herself, just enjoy, and don’t start looking for problems.

  He broke off the kiss, and leaned down. Opening her bulky sweater, he placed tender kisses down her neck to the row of tiny brown buttons above her breast. He then trailed his hand over her breast, pressing softly as he traced the tender outline of her nipple through her cotton shirt. He didn’t stop his sweet torture as he cupped and lifted, running his thumb against the underside of her breasts. He pulled away, reaching down, he linked her hand in his and guided her into the house, closing and locking the door behind them. He squeezed her hand and looked down on her with such heat and desire in those powerful whiskey colored eyes, pausing with an open question she clearly understood, “Are you sure this is what you want? Tell me now before this goes any further.”

  “Yes, I want you.” Her voice was husky and filled with desire.

  Without another word, he led her up the stairs. Each creak of each step bumped up the beat of her heart, and it threatened to close off all her natural breathing. She didn’t know how to handle this, because with Brad, there was no question; he was in charge. His whole being stated that fact. He was a poster boy for the very definition of a strong alpha male. She’d wondered if men like him hadn’t in fact died off long ago. Now, she was so grateful he was here with her, leading her into his room, closing the door behind him.