CHAPTER NINE

 

Isabelle

 

The next couple of days were filled with rain as the temperature dropped and the heavens opened. I stayed in the house, working in the office, trying my best to steer clear of Brant. What had I been thinking, kissing him? I brought my fingers to my mouth, recalling the feel of his strong but soft lips on mine, the taste of him, the way he’d kissed so . . . masterfully. My God, the man should give lessons. How easy it would be to get swept away . . . Perhaps a part of me already was. What a difference only a handful of days could make. Brant had made unfair assumptions about me, but I’d done the same with him. I’d assumed there was nothing under that pretentious exterior he presented to the world, when the truth was, there was so much more.

Strangely, I didn’t exactly regret kissing him. I’d been scared, uncertain directly afterward, afraid the kiss would bring up all sorts of emotions I wouldn’t handle well. But, the opposite had been true. I’d been fine, and the knowledge gave me strength, and a dose of optimism, that in one regard anyway, I had healed.

The last man I’d kissed—and until two days before, the only man—had been my husband. I didn’t have any interest in pursuing anything more, and I would wager all the tea in China that Brant didn’t either, but to know that I could experience physical pleasure with someone else and not suffer emotional fallout was a gift beyond measure. It brought hope, the belief that someday . . . someday maybe I’d find happiness in the arms of someone else.

And what about a family, Belle? What about that?

A flare of panic, a small resurgence of grief flowed through me, my heart fluttering and stealing my breath. That familiar feeling of . . . betrayal that even a thought could bring. I shut my eyes, and after a moment the worst of it passed, though a feeling of melancholy lingered on the outskirts of my heart.  

Close to six, I left the office and went into the kitchen, greeting May with a smile. “If you have dinner ready for Mr. Talbot, I’ll take it up.”

“Sure do. Let me just get it on a tray. His appetite seems especially hearty since he came home from the hospital. It’s a good sign.”

I nodded in agreement. I’d noticed the same thing, and it brought relief. “I thought the rain was supposed to let up today,” May continued as she ladled soup into a bowl and glanced past me at the window. “Instead it’s coming down harder than it did yesterday. Cats and dogs my father used to say.”

“I know. The training yard is practically a river. All the horses are antsy, but what can you do?” I shrugged.

“Speaking of antsy,” she said. “I’m surprised Brant is still here. I’d have thought he’d be chomping at the bit to get back to his life in New York.” She set a roll and a small dish of butter on the tray. “Gives me some hope that he’s more invested in working things out with Harrison than he might admit.”

I took the tray from May, biting at my lip for a moment. “I don’t know. I hope so too. When I called Brant, I didn’t realize the extent to which those two are cut from the same cloth, you know?”

“Oh they are that.” May smiled kindly. “In any case, I think it’s been good for Brant to be here, remember where he came from. Seems he’s done a mighty fine job of forgetting all these years. He’s practically been living at the stables these past few days.” Yes, I’d noticed that too.

I opened my mouth to respond to May when Jeff, one of the men who worked at the stables, came into the kitchen. He was drenched from head to toe, running a hand over his wet hair.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” May exclaimed. “You’re going to create a puddle on my floor. Here,” she said, tossing him the towel hanging on the back of the stove.

He took it with a thank you, wiping at his face and the front of his shirt. He took a seat at the counter, his hands obviously trembling with cold. “Thanks, May. You got any coffee left?”

“My goodness, you look freezing. What are you doing out there catching your death?” She slid a cup of steaming coffee in front of him and he wrapped his hands around the mug, sighing.

“Mona Lisa and her foal got out of the pen in the south pasture and Mick and I went to collect ’em. Brant came along and we found Mona Lisa but not the foal. Almost everyone went home for the night. We’ll have to look for her in the morning.”

My blood ran cold, and I placed the tray down on the counter. “In the morning?” I rasped, disbelief clear in my tone. The sun hadn’t even set yet. Morning was a lifetime away.

Jeff looked at me, his expression a mixture of grim and confused as he nodded. “Yeah. It’ll be getting dark pretty soon here and the stream is overflowing from all the rain. It isn’t safe out there.”

I shook my head, trying to stop the buzzing, my skin prickling. “But the foal, Starshine, she’s only a baby.”

Jeff’s eyes tightened at the corners and he tilted his head. “She’s a horse. She’ll be fine.”

“No,” I said, backing out of the kitchen. My eyes flew to May’s worried gaze. “May, will you take Mr. Talbot his dinner? I have to . . .” I shook my head again, turning and running for the door, not bothering with an umbrella.

My sneaker-clad feet sloshed in the mud puddles lining the side of the road to the stable, and when I burst breathlessly into the dry space, Brant and Mick turned, twin expressions of surprise greeting me.

“Isabelle?” Brant asked, moving toward me. His jeans were dark with rain, his shirt mostly dry, but I saw two coats hanging from a hook, dripping water onto the wooden floor. “Is it my dad?”

“What?” I shook my head. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I heard about Mona Lisa and Starshine.” Just then, I heard braying from the stall nearest the wall, and I turned on my heel, rushing to where Mona Lisa was standing at the door of her stall, nickering and moving from foot to foot in place. My heart squeezed tightly in my chest, and the panic I’d felt in the kitchen rose in my throat. I reached out to pet Mona Lisa’s face. “It’s okay, girl. It’s okay. We’re going to find your baby girl. Don’t worry, okay?” My voice almost broke and desperation clawed at my bones. I opened her stall and began leading her out. Her saddle was removed and she’d obviously just been brushed.

“Belle, what are you doing? We just got her settled.”

“Her baby is out there,” I said, sucking in a small breath. “You can’t get her settled without her baby. Do you know anything about mothers?”

Brant’s expression was a study in uncertainty as his eyes moved over my face. “Starshine will be fine. She’ll survive without her mother for one night. It’s the safest thing to do. You weren’t out with us, Belle. The pastures are flooded and the stream has overflowed. Starshine will find a dry spot under a tree and we’ll go out in the morning when there’s light to see by and bring her home.”

Behind me, Mona Lisa nickered softly again. “No.” I moved past him, heading toward the saddles.

“Belle—”

I whirled on him. “I don’t need your permission to go out there and bring this mother to her baby, Brant. I’m going with or without your approval. It’s still light. Once we find Starshine, if it’s not safe to come back, we’ll find shelter and wait until the sun rises. But I am not leaving her out there alone.” I was shaking slightly now and my hands trembled as I grabbed the equipment and began saddling Mona Lisa.

After a minute, strong hands lifted the saddle out of my hands. My head turned swiftly, ready to rip into Brant again, but he simply lifted the saddle and placed it on Mona Lisa. He looked at me, his mouth a grim line but his eyes full of something that looked . . . tender. Empathetic. “Then I’ll go with you.”

 

**********

 

The squelching sound of water-saturated earth met our ears as we led the horses carefully through the pasture. I wanted to pick up the pace, but knew it wasn’t safe under these conditions. The last thing I’d want to do is risk injury to Mona Lisa or Newton, the horse Brant was riding. The rain was still falling and seemed to pick up as we made it to the stream, swelling over the bank and pouring into the fields. We left a wide berth knowing that where the ground was soft, the horses risked stumbling.

I couldn’t risk Mona Lisa. Starshine was out there, and she needed her mama.

She needed her mama. That clawing desperation increased and I choked back a sob, tilting my head to the sky and letting the rain mix with the tears I didn’t want Brant to know I was crying. Oh God. I was making this about me—about my desperate longing—yet I couldn’t contain it, refused to suppress it until I reunited mother and foal. Safe. Unharmed. Together.

We rode on, Brant taking the lead, glancing back at me now and again, the concern on his face clear. He had to think I was crazy, irrational, but I couldn’t care about that now.

The sun set, and the sky grew dim above us as we searched, weaving through groupings of trees, the rain drumming insistently on the ground. I whistled for Starshine but knew the sound wouldn’t carry very far over the pelting rain. Mona Lisa was whinnying as if she too was calling for her baby, and the awful sound made me want to weep, to fall to my knees, to scream a million whys toward the sky.

Get it together, Isabelle. Get it together.

“Over there,” I heard Brant call, his deep voice cutting through the thundering weather. I swiveled my head and cried out when I spotted the foal standing on the opposite side of the stream, whinnying for help. My heart stuttered as I let out a sound of both relief and despair. We’d have to ride away from her to go around the swirling water before we came back again. “Come on,” Brant said again, moving forward. “I think we can cross if we go up here a little ways. It’s a lot narrower right over that slope.” I didn’t know how he knew that but I followed him anyway, trusting. Wait, he knew that because he’d grown up here. He must know every tree, every fence line and boulder that was a part of this land.

And thank God he remembered. Thank God.

The sky dimmed further, a sliver of moon appearing overhead. Not much to see by, but it was something. I followed Brant’s dark form and when he stopped, I stopped with him, looking at the place he’d chosen to cross. The water was a dark, foamy swirl in front of us, and I hesitated. It was narrower here, but we still couldn’t see what was beneath the surface. We’d have to move very, very slowly, allowing the horses to test every step.

Brant led the way again, Newton putting up some resistance, but ultimately trusting Brant’s lead and moving through the dark water. It wasn’t deep, but the water churned, so Brant allowed the horse to move at his own pace. I led Mona Lisa into the water, moving as carefully as Brant, letting her choose her steps without guiding or nudging. We were across in a matter of minutes and I let out a sigh of relief.

Brant turned immediately toward the place we’d seen Starshine. The lump in my chest moved into my throat as we drew closer. I heard her before I saw her, whinnying pitifully from beneath a tree at the edge of the stream, and even though I’d meant to walk slowly, I couldn’t help nudging Mona Lisa forward, letting her trot to her baby who moved toward her as well. They came together just as a loud crack of thunder sounded above, Starshine letting out a startled whinny, her trembling body moving beneath that of her mother, finding her milk-swollen udder and latching on. I slid from Mona Lisa, my hot tears mixing with the rain. Something broke inside me to see mother and daughter reunited, the baby nursing sloppily—desperately—as Mona Lisa reached her neck around, nuzzling with her nose, her breath coming out in soft snuffing sounds.

Every harrowing, searing emotion I’d kept mostly contained since that moment in the basement came rushing to the surface and I leaned in to Mona Lisa, pressing my face into her coarse hair and crying. Your baby is safe. I could feel my shoulders shaking with my sobs, and knew Brant must know. But I couldn’t seem to stop as the terror, the grief—the unfathomable heartache—rose from inside me, spilling uncontrollably beneath a dark, rainy sky. I wrapped my arms around Mona Lisa’s neck, turning my face to the side and expelling a tearful breath. “There you go. You’re together now. There you go. There you go.” My voice sounded soggy, choked with pain.

After a moment, or maybe hours, I felt Brant’s hand on my shoulder and turned my face to his. Whatever was in my expression caused sorrow to fill his eyes. “Come on. The old distillery buildings are about ten minutes that way,” he gestured his head over his shoulder. “We’ll get the horses warm and dry and us too, okay?”

I barely registered his words, but I nodded, so filled with gratitude that he had come with me, that he was taking charge where I could not.

I didn’t resist when he pulled me up on Newton, cradling my body in front of him and cresting the ridge. He held Mona Lisa’s reins in his hand, and Starshine followed her mother, staying as close as she possibly could. I glanced back at them every minute or so to make sure they were okay and each time I did, Brant leaned slightly to the side, allowing me to see.

Knowing I needed to see.

My body relaxed into his, finding comfort in the rain-drenched male scent of him, in the solid surety of his chest, in the way he’d readily taken the lead . . . but also given me what I needed so desperately.

There was goodness in this man. I felt it in every fiber of my grief-filled being.

The old distillery buildings that I’d only glimpsed from afar as they were at the edge of the property, came into view, two dark, hulking shadows. We moved toward them, the knowledge that we’d be out of the rain in a minute or two bolstering my strength and breaking the daze I’d been in.

“Is either one unlocked?” I asked, raising my face to his.

“I don’t know,” Brant said, his voice rising to be heard over the rain. “We’ll break a window if we have to.”

I settled back into his chest as we rode the last couple of hundred feet to the door of one of the buildings, where Brant dismounted. I breathed out a sigh of relief when he pushed the front door and it creaked open. Brant looked back at me and grinned, and my heart did a somersault in my chest. He was my hero. Maybe not tomorrow, not forever, and that was okay. But for tonight, for now, that’s exactly what he was. And it felt so good—so vital—to have one . . . even for a moment. And moments were all I asked for anymore.

“There’s a big overhang on the back of the building. Let’s get the horses dry and then we’ll go inside.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath and dismounting Newton. We led all three horses to the back of the building. Brant had remembered well—again—as there was a large overhang that gave the horses plenty of dry area where they could move around.

Brant removed his jacket and though the outside was soaked, he used the inside to rub Starshine down vigorously. Her trembling ceased after a few minutes and I was sure the warm milk was helping as she latched on to her mother, finding safety and comfort.

I took off my jacket as well and rubbed it over Mona Lisa and Newton, getting most of the water off them. Now sheltered, their body heat would dry them the rest of the way.

There was grass just beyond the roofline and we left plenty of tether on their tied-up reins—and the rope Brant removed from his saddle to tether Starshine—so they could graze and drink from the large puddles directly under the overhang. By the time we were done, I was trembling so hard, my teeth were chattering, but my heart felt calm, soothed.

We entered through the front door again, our footsteps echoing in the mostly empty building.

“There’s a room my grandfather used as an office once upon a time,” Brant said, taking my hand and leading me through the dark building, the only illumination the moonlight shining through the windows high up on the wall. Our footsteps echoed and I gripped Brant’s hand, again trusting him to lead me to safety.

He pushed open a metal door, the hinges squeaking loudly. Brant took his phone from his pocket and used the flashlight to shine around the space. It was a smallish room, a large fireplace on one wall, and a wooden desk off to one side. There were file cabinets against the opposite wall and a few other odds and ends. I was still shivering, but at least we had shelter. “There’s wood in the fireplace,” Brant said. “And if we’re lucky . . .” He reached into a canister on top of the stone structure and produced a bundle of matches.

I laughed with happiness. “Oh sweet Jesus. We can light a fire.”

He set his phone on the mantel and his grin flashed white in the semi-illuminated room. I sat in front of the fireplace and watched as Brant crumpled some old newspaper on the hearth, placed it under the wood, and lit it. Within minutes, the wood was glowing red and warmth was flowing toward me. I groaned with pleasure, moving closer, reaching out my hands as a deep shiver ran through me, the cold seeping from my bones and leaving my body.

Brant opened a chest of some sort against the wall and brought out what looked like old fabric tarps. He used one to wrap around my shoulders, and though it smelled sort of musty, it felt too good to have something dry against my skin. I wasn’t about to complain.

“You should get out of those wet clothes,” he said. “I’m going to text Mick and let him know we’re safe and that we’ll head back in the morning.”

I nodded and when he turned I used the rough fabric as a shield and removed my shoes, socks, saturated jeans, and T-shirt. My bra and underwear were damp too, but I only removed my bra. My cotton underwear was a small piece of fabric. It would dry quickly with the heat of the fire.

When I turned around with the tarp held around me once more, Brant was stoking the fire, his phone back on the mantel. “Did they text back?” I’d heard a soft ding as I’d been removing my clothes.

“Yeah. He said my father was throwing a tantrum, but they all agreed it was too risky to ride home. And apparently the dirt road that leads here from the other direction was not only closed years ago, but it’s washed out. They agreed since we were safe and warm . . .”

I nodded. I could imagine Harry’s face well. The idea of him huffing and puffing in anger made me feel strangely comforted—it meant he was feeling his old, fiery self. “You should get out of your wet clothes too, Brant. Is there another tarp in there?”

“Yeah. I will in a minute.”

I pulled what looked like an old trunk of some sort in front of the fire and sat. I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment, reveling in the feeling of being dry and warm. Safe.

“Who’d you lose, Belle?” His voice was soft, his tone solemn, and I appreciated his obvious grasp of the gravity his question posed.

The question echoed inside me, the one I’d known was coming. I opened my eyes to see Brant still stoking the fire, though he was now looking at me, his eyes deep and fathomless in the dim light of the room. Shadows danced and retreated on the walls, as if they were trapped souls waiting to be set free. “My daughter,” I answered, the word slipping from my lips.

Brant continued stoking the flames, the poker moving rhythmically, the fire dancing. I felt sort of hypnotized by the twisting, turning light and the warmth penetrating my skin. But I also felt chilled, seeing terrified, lifeless eyes against pallid skin. Then there was this weird calm, as if I felt . . . safe. With Brant. “Will you tell me?” he asked, his voice throaty.

I was quiet for a moment, picturing wispy blonde angel hair, eyes as pale blue as a springtime sky. “It was a home invasion.” I pulled the tarp more tightly around my naked skin, my fingers clasped at my neck, the fabric squeezed in my grip. “We were sitting down to dinner when he . . .” I paused, waiting for the terror, the memory of that horrifying moment, to steal my words. But it didn’t. I continued to watch the flames, strangely lulled. I needed to talk about this, didn’t I? Isn’t that what the grief counselor had told me? I hadn’t been able to . . . then. The horses had helped. The horses had been my lifeline when the words were locked inside. Or maybe . . . maybe there just hadn’t been words. Until now.

“He kicked in the kitchen door. It hadn’t even been locked, truth be told. But . . . he kicked it in. He led us to the basement. He tied our hands. My husband, me, and my . . . my little girl. She was only four years old.” Grief clogged my throat then, but still the words flowed past it, through it. “I couldn’t reach for her. I couldn’t . . .” I clenched my eyes closed, but there were no tears. Sometimes I swore I’d cried myself dry. Until earlier tonight when I’d cried for Mona Lisa’s lost baby. My lost baby. I knew that. I knew I’d made it about me. I wasn’t blind—and yet the need to reunite them when I had been denied that possibility had been too strong to ignore. An overwhelming need to provide a mother with what I had begged God for and never received. Provide a baby comfort, the thing I’d pleaded for my daughter to be given. I opened my mouth and spoke the words, “He shot us. One.” Bang. “Two.” Bang. “Three.” Bang. “Three merciless, inhumane shots. Inexplicable cruelty. I was the only one who . . . survived.”

“Belle . . .” Brant rasped, setting the poker down and moving toward me. He took me in his arms and I let him, burrowing into his chest, willingly taking the comfort he offered.