An Everyday Hero

by Laura Trentham

  His dad’s voice was soft. “You know, I had no intention of coming back here and taking over the farm.”

  Emmett couldn’t contain his astonishment. “What? I thought taking over had always been your plan.”

  “My plan was to make the army my career and retire a general. I wanted to travel the world with you and your mother.”

  “We lived all over the country.”

  “We did, but as the years went by, I began to see this piece of land—this farm—not as an anchor but a salvation.” His dad rubbed a hand over his whiskered chin. “I’m not saying it has to be your salvation too, but you need to find something to hang on to or your demons will eat you alive.”

  Emmett leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His demons took a bite every chance they got. “It was supposed to be a routine patrol, you know? My company had done dozens. All without incident. We were prepared. We were always prepared, but maybe we had gotten complacent? I don’t know.”

  He paused for a moment as the scene manifested like a movie. “It was hot, but the sky was a cloudless blue. It reminded me of a Tennessee summer day. In fact, I had slowed my pace to stare up at the blue. My first sergeant got farther ahead of me than usual. He turned around to chap my hide about being slow.”

  If he concentrated, he could hear the clomp of their boots in the dirt and feel the hot sun beating down. He could even see his sergeant’s good-natured, shit-eating grin.

  “It was like flipping a switch from order to chaos. An explosion knocked me to the ground. If I’d been on my sergeant’s heels like I should have been, I would have died too.”

  “You realize the space you’d put between you and the explosion saved the lives of the men behind you too,” his dad said softly.

  “Maybe, but maybe if I’d been concentrating on my surroundings and not the fucking sky, I would have noticed something. I would have been able to…” He leaned over his knees and held his head in his hands. What could he have done differently except die?

  “You aren’t a superhero. You couldn’t have predicted when or where an ambush might take place.”

  “I knew my leg was messed up bad. Worse than feeling pain, I couldn’t feel it at all.”

  “You were in shock,” his dad said softly.

  “I got on my knees and returned fire. I don’t know how many insurgents were out there or how many I hit. We were pretty exposed, but there was a ditch. I don’t know how long it took me to notice my sergeant was down. Too long. I grabbed his flak jacket and dragged us both into the ditch. He was still alive, but the blood … an artery had been hit. I tried to put pressure on it, then a tourniquet, but…” Blood had puddled in the dirt underneath them. “He knew it was over.”

  Emmett scrubbed his face with both hands as if that could erase watching a man’s eyes go blank as he tried to speak words lost to death.

  “What happened then?”

  “I crawled over to the next wounded man. His face was burned. I had to check his pocket to know it was Jenkins.” A pause as Emmett swallowed down his rising bile. “He made it, though.”

  “The report said you saved his life, Emmett.”

  They’d told him the tourniquet he’d applied had saved Jenkins’s life and his leg. But had he even wanted to be saved? A nurse had wheeled Emmett into the burn unit at Walter Reed while he’d been recovering from his amputation and Jenkins hadn’t wanted to talk to him. The burns had left him unrecognizable.

  “Two other men credit you with saving their lives that day. Being a hero doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. It means you do something to help even though you are scared.”

  Memories circled like carrion ready to take their pound of flesh. “I’ll never feel like a hero,” Emmett finally said.

  “You don’t have to, but people need heroes. They need to believe in good and evil, right and wrong. The gray areas in between don’t inspire others to want to be better. Do better.”

  “I don’t want to be anyone’s inspiration.”

  His dad let out a sigh. “I almost begged you not to go into the military.”

  Emmett raised his head. “What? Why?”

  “Because you had a vision of service that was a mirage. Same way I did, and probably your granddad too. But, son, freedom needs warriors. Warriors to battle through the gray in between. I didn’t say anything, because I knew you had the strength of character to understand the truth of that someday.”

  A question that had hammered at Emmett popped out.”What was the point?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What was the point of my men’s sacrifices? The defense of a pocket of land with no strategic worth?”

  “I can’t answer that, but all the threads weave together and connect in ways big and small. When just one of those threads are cut, it can all unravel. You don’t know what sort of horrors you prevented with your patrols.”

  Although the words had the veneer of wisdom, Emmett would need to turn them over and examine them from every angle.

  The mare tossed her head, gave a distressed whinny, and laid down on her side. A gush of fluid streamed over the hay.

  “Her waters broke. We need more light.” His dad’s voice gained urgency.

  Emmett grabbed the electric lantern Alfie had left hanging on the top of the stall. “What now?”

  “Pray things go smoothly.”

  He knelt next to his dad in the straw. Daisy flicked her bound tail and gave another chesty groan. Alfie joined them and stood against the wall, a silent observer.

  Ten minutes passed as they watched the birth sac ease out inch by inch with each agonized push.

  His dad muttered a curse. “The foal is stuck with one leg in and one out.”

  “What do we do?” Emmett asked.

  “We help her out.” His dad looked over at him with a small smile. “Go wash up.”

  “Me? No. You or Alfie should do it.” Although he’d watched a few births from afar over the years, he’d never gotten down and dirty.

  “Come on, boy.” Alfie gestured to the stall door. “I’ll get you fixed up.”

  Emmett followed Alfie to the industrial sink in the corner, where he produced a medicinal-smelling harsh soap and scrub brush. Emmett cleaned his hands and nails and rinsed with almost scalding water.

  Holding his hands up like he’d seen television doctors do, he reentered the stall and dropped to his knees. The impact sent nerves burning in his stump, but his discomfort was forgotten as he followed his dad’s directions.

  “Can you feel the leg?”

  The leg was wet and slippery. It took three tries before Emmett got a grip on the spindly limb. “I’ve got it.”

  “Slow and gentle is key. A foal’s legs are delicate at this point and you could break it if you aren’t careful.”

  Sweat dripped off Emmett’s forehead as he concentrated on easing the leg out. “Got it!”

  As soon as the foal was aligned properly, Daisy bore down again and the foal slipped halfway out, along with a flood of birth fluid that wet the knees of Emmett’s pants. He scooted backward but stayed close.

  His dad turned to Alfie. “Get us a towel, would you, Alfie?”

  A brown towel was produced and his dad rubbed the birth sac away from the foal’s mouth and head. The rest of the foal was birthed onto the straw with little more effort required from Daisy.

  “What a beauty,” his dad whispered. Checking its hindquarters, he grinned at Emmett. “A colt.”

  After rubbing the colt down, his dad backed away and Emmett followed. Daisy gathered herself to stand, the afterbirth yet to pass, to lick her newborn and nudge the colt to his belly. His gangly front legs splayed out in front of him.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, the colt rose on shaky legs and went in search of milk. Tears stung Emmett’s eyes. The scene was both common and a miracle. A common, everyday miracle. An oxymoron that made perfect sense in the moment. A swell of emotion filled his chest.

  Being with Greer had dug a well in
side of Emmett, but it was seeing the foal born that filled it with hope. Even after its hard entry into the world, the foal found the strength to rise on wobbly legs, and the exhausted mare welcomed him with licks and her milk. A new life had begun with Emmett’s help.

  Once the afterbirth was delivered, the three men replaced the messy straw with fresh and let mare and colt bond in peace.

  “Everything will be all right now,” Emmett’s dad said.

  Although Emmett knew his dad was referring to Daisy and her colt, the statement took on a bigger meaning in Emmett’s psyche. Things would be all right. Not without obstacles or hardships or grief, but all right.

  “You want a drink?” His dad clapped him on the shoulder.

  Emmett’s shirt and pants clung to him in a mixture of sweat and afterbirth. “What I really want is a shower.”

  “Come on up to the house. You still have some clothes stashed in your old bedroom.”

  Emmett and his dad strolled to the house, serenaded by the insects and with the stars putting on a show overhead.

  He stopped his dad before they reached the porch. It was difficult to find the words. “I think I want to stick around.”

  “You tired? Your mom keeps a clean set of sheets on the bed.”

  He shook his head, frustrated at his own lack of clarity. “No. I mean stay in Madison and work on the farm. With you. If you still want me, that is.”

  His dad dropped his head back and looked to the sky, his voice thick with emotion. “Of course I still want you, but only if you’re sure it’s what you want.”

  “I wasn’t sure until now.”

  “Don’t let the high of seeing a foaling influence you. The days are usually more mundane. Full of hard work and even harder decisions.”

  Emmett had lived and worked on the farm in high school, so he had some idea, but as a teenager he’d been sheltered from the hard stuff. “Terrance came down this week with a job offer on base as a contractor overseeing special projects.”

  His dad whistled low. “It’s more than you’ll make here. Less work too. Why wouldn’t you take it?”

  “The army is my past. I’m ready to serve in other ways. You and Mom need me.”

  His dad ran a hand down his face. “We will manage fine. Don’t give up a good opportunity for us.”

  “It’s not just for you. It’s for me too. I’m ready to settle down and plant roots.”

  “Does this have anything to do with Greer Hadley?” His dad’s voice veered slightly suspicious.

  “No.” Emmett reexamined his feelings. “Maybe. I don’t know what’s going on with us, but she’s been good for me. Doesn’t take my crap and knows when to give me a good swift kick. Why don’t you like her?”

  “It’s not that I don’t like her. She’s nice enough, and her parents are good people.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “She’s a dreamer. Unreliable. She’s liable to take off and not look back. I don’t want you to get your feelings hurt is all.”

  An initial guffaw at his dad’s protectiveness faded as the realization swept over him: It was too late. Greer had already worked her way into his life and heart. He didn’t know what—if anything—he meant to her. It could be he was her project or her rebound or just a way to pass some time, but his feelings were involved in a big way.

  It didn’t matter. Even if things ended in a relationship trauma unit, he would survive and be a better man because he’d known her. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “I’ll always worry about you. It’s my most important job.” His dad squeezed his arm and strolled up the porch steps.

  Stunned, Emmett was slow to follow. He understood now. Finally. Although Emmett didn’t agree with his dad’s methods, he couldn’t fault his heart. His dad had never been his adversary but his ally.

  His mom fussed over them, relieved about the successful birth and ecstatic at the changed vibe between Emmett and his dad. Anything he could do to relieve her stress was a positive.

  He checked his watch. Greer would be busy behind the bar, but he didn’t mind. He’d hold down a barstool and watch her work until her shift ended. “I’m going to get cleaned up and head out, but I’ll be back in the morning to start work.”

  “Start work?” Wrinkles deepened between his mom’s eyes.

  “Emmett is going to start helping out around here.” It wasn’t often his dad smiled, so the grin that spread over his face made an impression.

  His mom gave a little gasp, her eyes shining. “That’s wonderful. Just wonderful.”

  When she moved to hug Emmett, he held her off. “Unless you want to take a shower too, I’d hold off on the hugs.”

  He retreated to his old room and the connected bathroom. He stripped out of his clothes and pulled his prosthetic off, wiping it down. The hot shower loosened his stiff muscles and the stress over the difficult birth.

  Cleaning up after hard, dirty work made him feel useful and accomplished. Sitting on his butt out at the cabin the last few months hadn’t been healthy, physically or psychologically. If Greer hadn’t marched out and dragged him back from the brink of his depression, would he still be sitting out there drinking himself to death? He wasn’t confident he would have found the bravery to run the gauntlet of his fears without her shove.

  He scrubbed himself clean, climbed out, and hopped by his dirty clothes to rifle through his dresser. It was filled with old high school T-shirts. He pulled on a blue one with his senior year printed on the pocket and the high school football team’s tiger mascot on the back. It was tight but would have to do.

  Pants were another matter altogether. His only choice was a pair of cargo shorts that left his prosthetic exposed. As he found a pair of old tennis shoes, he put a nail on the coffin of the self-consciousness he’d wrestled with since losing his leg. His insecurities might not be buried yet, but they had one foot in the grave—so to speak.

  He smiled. Greer would have thought that was funny. His leg was sore from the day’s work, his limp more pronounced on his descent to the kitchen.

  His mom greeted him with a hug and a plate of banana pudding. He devoured it and held his plate out like Oliver Twist for more.

  “Tomorrow morning, we’ll take that ride I promised you,” his dad said. “I’ve got some ideas for the south pasture I’d like your opinion on.”

  “Sounds good.” He checked his watch. “I’m going to head out.”

  His parents stood on their front porch and waved him off, illuminated in his rearview mirror until he hit the main road. He glanced at the guitar in his passenger seat. The road led him straight to Greer.

  Chapter 18

  “Where is he?” Becky paced behind the bar and cast a glance up at the clock for the hundredth time.

  Greer doled out another beer and took the cash, stuffing the extra into the tip jar for her and Edgar to split at the end of the night. The bar was hopping, but its failure to deliver live music after everyone had paid a cover charge was fueling an undercurrent of disappointment and aggression.

  “At this point, you may have to give people their cover money back. I don’t think this guy is going to show.” Greer didn’t know the musician Becky had hired for the night’s gig.

  “Is there anyone we can get over here on such short notice?” Becky asked.

  Greer filled a glass with beer and passed it down the bar, making a note on the customer’s tab. While she had connections, anyone she called now would never make it in time. “Not for tonight. I can make some calls and probably find someone for tomorrow night, though.”

  “What a nightmare,” Becky muttered and continued her pacing.

  A set of broad shoulders caught Greer’s attention. Her heart danced the cancan, and her huge smile made her feel goofy. Still, she didn’t take her eyes off him as she sidled down the bar in his direction, filling two orders along the way.

  “Hey, big guy. What’s your poison? It’s on me.”

  “Surprise me with something on tap
. Just one, though.”

  “Drinking is kind of the point of coming to Becky’s. It’s not known for its ambience.” Teasing Emmett was her new favorite pastime.

  “I’m here because you’re here.” Although a smile tipped his lips, his blue-eyed gaze pierced with a sharp truth that both thrilled and terrified her. “Have you talked to your mom about a sleepover yet?”

  His T-shirt was tight across his shoulders and chest … and well, everywhere. His hair was damp and rumpled in a sexy-messy kind of way. It was a ridiculously good look for him.

  “I might have mentioned my need for more freedom since I’m technically a grown-up.”

  “I’d say thirty qualifies.”

  “Most of the time I feel like I don’t know anything about life, but then, I saw eighteen-year-old baby-faced kids today on campus at the community college and realized I’ve lived a lifetime.”

  He perked up. “What were you doing on campus?”

  “Registering for the summer semester.”

  “Way to go.” His smile was a combination of I-told-you-so and pride.

  Filling drink orders pulled her away from him, but every time she glanced in his direction—which was every five seconds or so—he was watching her in a way that made her overfill a glass of beer and bobble a bottle of gin. It shouldn’t matter what he thought, but somewhere along the way, it had started to matter. He mattered.

  When she weaved her way back to his end of the bar, he asked, “The flyers advertised live music. What’s the holdup?”

  “The dude never showed. Becky is beside herself. She charged a cover for the first time tonight.”

  Becky joined her at the bar. “This is a nightmare. I can’t think of any other option than to…” Her head tilted and her eyes narrowed on Greer. “You could play.”

  “No.” A cold wave of panic flooded Greer, tingling her fingers.

  Becky gasped and took hold of her hands. “Why didn’t I think of this before? You have the experience. You could do it. Will you?”

  “I can’t. I don’t have my guitar.”