by Misty Evans
“Of course,” Emma came bustling into the kitchen at that moment, face flushed. Her shirt was slightly askew and strands of hair had come loose from her ponytail. “Is everything all right with the horses?”
Will removed his hat and nodded. “Horses are fine. You didn’t come out to check on the foal.”
“Sorry, I overslept.” She gave a slight chuckle that sounded forced. Her fingers worked the edge of her shirt hem and she kept biting the inside of her cheek. “Mitch said he helped you take care of the morning routine and that you had everything under control.”
It was weird to see the doctor without her composure. She was cute, shifting her weight and brushing back a strand of hair as her eyes darted to Mitch and then away.
Will’s gaze cut to Mitch as well, stayed there a condescending moment, then went back to Emma. “I wanted to ask about switching out Second Chance and Hope to the far stalls so I could start cleaning out the main barn.”
Total bullshit. Mitch could tell by the way the guy was standing with his feet spread and his hands flexing and releasing on his hat brim that he was pissed. The guy was protective of Emma, which was good, but maybe there was more to it than that.
The stall cleaning was an excuse for him to get the lay of the land. To check up on Emma and see for himself if something was going on with her and Mitch.
Boy, was it. Mitch wanted to throttle the man for interrupting what could have been one hell of a start to his morning.
“Danika is coming tomorrow to help us clean out the main horse barn,” Emma said. “It’s part of her therapy. She’s going to need plenty of hard work to keep her mind off the holiday, and it’ll be good for me, too.”
Will spun the hat in his hands. Flex. Release. Flex. “All right. I’ll inventory the feed and do some mowing in the far pasture today. With the fires and all, I want to make sure we’re going to have enough feed to last for the next week.”
“Yes. Good idea.” Emma gave him a nervous smile. “Mitch and I are going to ride the trail to the park and back. You’ll keep an eye on things here, right?”
Will’s eyes narrowed slightly at Mitch. “I thought you were going alone.”
Mitch shot Emma a look. “I am.”
She reached out and playfully punched his bicep. “No, you’re not. I’m going too.”
The woman was crazy. Sexy but crazy. What was he going to do with her?
Fuck her blind and then get the hell out of her life.
But it was already too late for that. He couldn’t walk away from her so easily. She’d gotten under his skin, made him lower his defenses.
“I guess Emma is going too,” he said to Will, barely believing he was saying the words. “Just so you know, it’s a dangerous risk and I’ve advised strongly against it.”
Will gave him a pitying look, as if he knew Emma’s stubbornness all too well. “I’ll ready Igor for you, Em,” he said, even though he didn’t take his eyes off Mitch.
“Thank you, Will.” Emma headed for the pantry. “I’ll get some food for the trail.”
Mitch stepped out onto the porch next to Will and closed the door behind him. “She’s a handful.”
Will stared off in the distance along the long, winding drive to where it met up with the county road. “She is that. A spitfire, my mom would have called her.”
“I’d cancel the ride into the park, but I need that intel for another case I’m working.”
“Can you keep her safe?”
“Like I said, it’s risky. If whoever was in the house yesterday is out there, they could get the drop on us.”
“If Goodsman only wanted to kill Emma, why leave her a present? Seems like he’s taunting her.”
“It’s probably not even him. Last I heard from my boss, he said they had a witness spot him forty miles south of here.”
“So who was in the house yesterday?”
“No idea. Seems like they’re playing a game.”
“Maybe they want to scare her, drive the doctor a little crazy? Quid pro quo for something she did to them in the past?”
Well, well, Will was a smart guy. “Makes sense.”
He stuck the hat back on his head. “My guess? Goodsman is getting some revenge and laughing about it from a place far away. I combed the woods last night and again this morning. There’s nobody out there. Whoever left that calling card yesterday did it to throw Em into a tailspin, and then they bugged out.”
“You think it’s safe then to take her with me?”
“Odds are, yes.” Will patted the top of Lady’s head who still sat next to his leg. The Labs found spots in the sun to warm themselves, their eyes darting to Mitch every so often. “I’ll keep out of sight, but I’ll cover your six.”
With Will behind them, Mitch could relax a bit. “On which horse?”
“Don’t need a horse.”
With that, Will and Lady left him standing there, both of them kicking up dust as they crossed the yard heading for the horse barn.
Inside, Mitch caught Emma in the pantry. “Which branch of the military was Will?”
She whirled in the tight quarters, protein bars in hand. “Why?”
He took the bars and set them on the shelf. “Was he Special Forces?”
She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him. “Yes, but it’s his story to tell, so that’s all I’m saying.”
Mitch put his hands on her hips and drew her close. “That’s all I need to know.”
She grinned as he lowered his lips to hers. “What are you doing, Agent Holden?”
“Showing my gratitude.” He nibbled at her bottom lip and felt his chest expand when she giggled and kissed him back.
“For what exactly?”
He didn’t want to get serious again, but he needed to tell her the truth. “For the way you listened and didn’t preach at me about letting all my shit go. I can’t let it go. I won’t.”
She brought a hand up, her fingers light on his forehead as she brushed a lock of his hair aside. “I know, and that’s okay.”
In that moment of complete acceptance, peace filled his chest for the first time in a long time. “Why don’t you want to change me, Emma?”
She gave him a sad, droll smile. “Your dysfunction enables mine. Why else?”
At least they could recognize the madness in themselves. Accept it. “I can’t promise you anything.”
“You don’t have to. I’m a big girl. I know what I’m getting myself into.”
Did she? Since he’d been here, he’d admired her guts and bravery, but she was a tad reckless. Him, even more so. That could spell disaster. “Is there any way I can talk you out of going with me on the trail today?”
“Nope, and don’t even think of canceling because of me. We’re going. I will not be held hostage in my house, and I can’t sit here and do nothing. I’ll go mad.”
“I think you’re crazy already, Emma.”
Her smile turned happy. “Crazy attracts crazy, so what does that make you?”
“Is that a professional adage? Crazy attracts crazy?”
She laughed. “Absolutely. You ready? We better get going or we won’t make it back before nightfall.”
He kissed her then, long and slow, a part of him wanting nothing more than to stay here, in this house with her, making her even more happy.
After thoroughly telling her that with his kiss, he regretfully pulled back. She was right; if they were going to check out the trail, they needed to get going.
“Grab your shotgun,” he told her, letting her out of the pantry and swatting her backside as she passed him. “And your pea shooter too.”
“Yes, sir.” She gave him a saucy salute and went to retrieve her weapons.
Mitch took a minute to revel in the feeling of peace permeating his chest, winding right around the old shrapnel buried there. It wasn’t overwhelming but there was a spark of something—a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Five years to be exact. For the first time in five
years, he couldn’t care less about the holidays. All because of that little spark inside him.
Because of Emma.
Desire. Expectancy. Both warred with the grip of the past. The possibility that he could blot out the pain for a few minutes, a few hours—maybe even a few days—without the aid of alcohol or any other drug was welcome. He could get through Christmas sober this year.
But cleaning out the horse stalls wasn’t in his plans.
Keeping a certain doctor in her bed all day long, naked and at his mercy? That was more like it. She deserved to be pampered, to feel appreciated and valued. To experience a Christmas like she’d never experienced before.
Feeling like a dirty-minded Santa, intent on giving Emma the best, most erotic Christmas of her life, Mitch grabbed the protein bars from the shelf and closed the pantry door behind him.
Time to get busy. He had a criminal to catch and a seduction to plan, and less than twenty-four hours to do both.
Chapter Twelve
Face the past.
Deal with it.
Move on.
The goal of any good therapist was to help clients own their problems, deal with them, and then let them go.
In her years working with criminals, Emma had found few who were truly open to changing their lives. Sometimes they verbalized a desire to change, but more often than not, the hopelessness of life in prison and their past family conditioning won out.
Normal people living normal lives had trouble confronting and overcoming issues from their pasts. Those in the criminal justice system, where there was little support or hope for personal change, were usually doomed to fail from the start. Facing their past, mistakes and all, and then dealing with that past was only half the battle.
Letting it go…that was the true test.
The same held true for her, she knew, as she rocked gently in the saddle, Twinkie following Igor and Mitch ahead of them. Salt and Pepper ran back and forth, their noses to the ground, wagging their tails and occasionally barking at each other. She’d revisited her issues inside and out many times in an attempt to heal. Most days she felt strong and ready to move forward with her life. Others, she wanted to stay in bed and cry.
Grief was like that. It could hit you out of nowhere. Leave you bereft, even after all this time.
The sun was bright as it burned through a soft layer of smoke hanging high in the atmosphere. The day was warm for Christmas Eve, but then every day during this dry spell was in the low 80s if not warmer.
Adjusting her hat, she wiped sweat from her brow and calculated how far they’d come. They’d passed her makeshift gun range, Mitch promising her another lesson on their way back. She looked forward to his hands on her, helping her steady the gun. His voice close to her ear, murmuring instructions.
The memory of him guiding her the previous day made her shiver even though she was sweating. The kiss on her office floor had rocked her to her core. She hadn’t been with a man since Roland. Being touched in that way, being kissed—it was a good thing they’d been sitting down. Mitch’s kiss would have knocked her on her ass anyway.
As if he sensed her attention on his back, he shot a look over his shoulder. “Everything alright?”
Surprisingly, it was. As long as she didn’t think too hard about him and his issues and the way his psychosis mirrored her own.
While she hadn’t done a thorough, professional analysis of his personality or delved into all the things he hadn’t told her about the day his twin had died, she didn’t need to. She knew the MO of people like Mitch. Knew it like the back of her hand.
It was hers as well.
The people who wore their dysfunction like a badge of honor. People who identified so strongly with being a warrior, a martyr, a victim, that they couldn’t let that identity go. To step out of that role and move on with a successful, productive, healthy life would be like cutting out the biggest part of their personality and kicking it to the curb. Who would they be then?
In her own life, she’d run away from the world she’d created with Roland. While she hated admitting that she’d been a victim, she had been one, and although she’d survived and dealt with ways to protect herself and give herself a sense of security again, she’d been victimized all over again by Roland’s rejection. By the loss of their child.
Knowing something cognitively did not always translate to understanding it emotionally. That’s what she’d learned through her ordeal. She understood it wasn’t her fault she’d lost the baby. She understood Roland’s difficulty in staying with her. Her mind accepted these things, but her heart didn’t.
Mitch was in a similar situation. He’d faced his demons time and time again, but had yet to effectively put them to rest. Until he did that, he couldn’t let the past go and move on. By day, he functioned well enough to be successful at his job, and that was probably the one thing keeping him afloat. Most of his emotions were closed off. Smothered. His defense mechanisms—anger and hostility—had become his armor, keeping him from getting involved in loving human relationships.
Figures he’d be attracted to me. While she sported a normal facade in order to make her clients and others comfortable enough around her to let down their guards, she was as angry and hurt over Roland’s betrayal as she was at herself for putting her child at risk.
But if she could find a way to help Mitch through his damaged, dark state of being, she might be able to find her own way through the forest of demons she kept at bay every day.
They entered a clearing where the stream that bordered her property paralleled the trail. Because of the drought, the usually wide swath of water had been reduced to a slender, meandering trickle. Exposed river rock shone in the harsh sunlight. Cracks appeared in the ground in several places where the banks had dried out.
Mitch slowed his horse. “Let’s give the horses a drink.”
There were pink wildflowers here, their tiny heads blowing in the gentle breeze, oblivious to the fires that had ravaged the land only a few miles away. Emma dismounted and led Twinkie to the skinny stream, bending down and touching the flowers as the horse took his time sniffing the exposed river rocks.
“Nature’s a bitch, but she knows how to give birth to beauty,” Mitch said, looking down at the patch of flowers Emma knelt in.
Emma ran her fingers lightly over the pink heads. “The fires are a horrible thing. I can only imagine the losses to wildlife as well as those to people in the surrounding areas. It won’t take long for Mother Nature to send up new grasses, flowers, and trees inside the park. Come spring, it will be a wonderful sign of hope and rebirth. I hope the locals can rebuild too.”
“Destruction does wipe the slate clean.” Mitch looked off toward the valleys south of them, but Emma had the feeling he was seeing something else. Something from his past. War, perhaps, or his brother’s death. “But sometimes, not even Mother Nature can recover from it.”
Did he really believe that? She stood, removed her hat, and used a hanky to wipe her face. Both horses stood together drinking. “Something new always rises from the ashes,” she countered. “Something we can learn from, draw hope from.”
He slanted a glance at her. “Perhaps.”
For some reason, his concession, though mild, gave her a sense of satisfaction. “Human nature is much the same. Many people find ways to overcome tragedy and go on to use their experiences to help others.”
“Like you,” he said.
When she gave him a questioning look, he pointed at Twinkie and Igor. “The horses, the dogs, Will. You overcame your loss and now you work with juvenile delinquents and rescue trick horses. You’ve channeled your dysfunction pretty well, Doc, even if you’ve never sought therapy.”
She laughed at that. “My penchant for rescuing things goes pretty far back. Like when I was seven and our neighbors moved off and left their cat and her newborn kittens. My dad forbade me from feeding that mother cat, but I snuck lunch meat and milk out to her every evening after supper. I found homes fo
r all of her kittens too. Eventually, my parents gave up on punishing me for taking care of her. We got her spayed and she became my pet. Scout, I called her, after my favorite book heroine. She lived with us until she died at the ripe old age of thirteen.”
“How many veterans like Will have you helped?”
Was he asking out of curiosity or something more personal? “Will is a unique case. Most of the vets I’ve worked with are in jail from extenuating circumstances stemming from their inability to reintegrate into a normal life once they return from their deployments.”
“Can you fix them? The ones with PTSD?”
She squinted at him. “Fix them?”
“You know.” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “Do that voodoo you do in therapy.”
Touchy subject. One she’d been wanting to dig into deeper, but her work with criminal juveniles took up most of her time. “In most of the people I’ve worked with who suffer from PTSD—whether it’s from military or other traumatic events—I’ve found they have a rift between their mental and psychological stability before the trauma and their mental and psychological stability afterwards. No surprise there, that’s basically what it is. In my research, however, I haven’t found a way to heal those dysfunctions. The best I’ve discovered most of my patients can do is manage it.”
“So there’s no cure?”
It saddened her to admit it, especially when she was pretty darn sure he was asking for himself, but she shook her head. “What happens to us becomes ingrained in our cells. If we suffer a trauma, our body never forgets it, even if our brain finds a way to disconnect from it. That’s why, say, a woman who was sexually molested by her father or other male family member as a child may disassociate from the experience and forget it, her brain using a trick to repress the memory so she can continue to grow and function inside her family. Dependency can do that for us. As a child, she had no other option. She depended on her parents to take care of her, so her very survival relied on being part of the family. As a grown woman, she may be at a party or in a restaurant and smell a cologne or aftershave that suddenly triggers a flood of overwhelming fear, pain, and anger, but she doesn’t know why. Snatches of the memory of what happened to her may even arise, yet she can’t make sense of them.”