Summer's Night

by Cheyenne Meadows

  "We were still young. I guess I was naïve too, being raised on the reservation. I fell in love with Tom, married him against my mother's wishes. He moved us to Montana, closer to his home tribe of Lakota." She picked at her napkin, eyes lowered in remembrance. "It wasn't long before he began drinking. Just now and again. I didn't think much of it since I was busy caring for baby Colton while Tom worked. He never wanted much to do with the baby, always said he was going out with the guys to let off steam. I didn't argue or say anything." She puffed out a breath.

  Night sat tense across the table, a ticking began in his cheek. His blue eyes flashed with anger.

  Summer remained still, unsure what to do or say. She remained mute and simply listened to the woman's story.

  "Before long, it got worse. A lot worse. He drank every night. I questioned him about it when he came home smelling like liquor in the middle of the night. He slapped me. That's when my nightmare began."

  Summer gasped, her mouth fell open. She'd heard that reservations struggled with alcohol abuse and domestic violence. Never did she expect to sit down with one of those victims, hearing her tale first hand, seeing what a horrendous lifelong impression it made on her.

  "It became a vicious cycle. He drank and would hit me if I said or did any presumed wrong. The next day, he would apologize and tell me how much he loved me and our son. I believed him even as I began to fear him. I thought I did something wrong to anger him, but soon it didn't matter what I did, he would be furious. Deep down, I knew it would only get worse, but I truly feared for my life. He once told me if I left, he would hunt me down and kill me like a rabid skunk. I didn't doubt that for a second."

  "But you left?" Summer whispered the question, eager to know more.

  Mrs Kensington nodded. "One day when Colton was three, Tom hit him. That gave me the courage to pack up and leave. Hitting me was one thing, hitting my child was another. As soon as he left for work, I packed up what few belongings I had, tossed some clothes into a suitcase, bundled Colton in a blanket, and walked out the door. I didn't stop until I reached the bus station and bought a ticket for Colorado."

  Bewildered, Summer tilted her head. "Why didn't you return home?"

  The older woman's dark gaze lifted even as her lips turned downward. "Shame. I was too ashamed to go home and admit to my mother that she was right. I decided I could make it on my own."

  Night reached over, took his mother's hand, and gave it a squeeze. "And, you did. Very well."

  "Wow." Summer looked at her patient in a new light, one full of amazement and sheer respect. "You're one remarkable woman."

  A small sad smile appeared on Mrs Kensington's face. "I did what I had to do. Just like anyone else."

  "Brave as your father." Night flicked his gaze over to Summer. "He was a Navajo Code Talker in World War II."

  Summer blinked. "I've heard about them. We couldn't have won the war without them talking in Navajo, a code that the Japanese could never break." She wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Mrs Kensington, you carry your heritage well. And, I agree with Night. You possess all the courage of your father and perhaps a bit more. He would be proud of you."

  "Why, thank you, dear." For the first time since she began her story, Mrs Kensington's chin lifted while her lips turned up.

  Chapter 8

  Night began to read an email, but found his attention pulled to the young therapist before he could even finish the first paragraph. He watched Summer instruct his mother on the newest exercise in her physical therapy regimen. She coaxed and assisted his mother as she lifted her right leg to a parallel position to the floor while sitting on a chair. Slowly, but surely, the leg extended, held for a few seconds, then relaxed once more. Over and over they repeated this, Summer lavishing praise on his mother more than once for her efforts.

  His mother slumped back in her recliner. "I'm exhausted."

  Summer smiled at her. "But you did a great job today. We'll save working on the stairs for tomorrow."

  Hearing the end of the session for the day, Night emerged from his office, heading toward the women.

  "You're welcome to stay for lunch." His mother offered.

  "That's very sweet, but I really can't."

  "Other patients today?" he inquired, propping a hip against the back of the couch.

  She glanced up, her brown eyes meeting his. "Actually, no. I have the afternoon off, but I have to do some repairs on a gate in my pasture. It's sagging and the post holding the gate is as rotten as decade old fruitcake."

  "I'll come over and help you."

  Summer's eyes widened in obvious surprise. "Oh, no. Really. It's okay. I can do it by myself. Besides, I'm sure you have other things to do."

  He smirked at her backpedaling. She would get his help whether she wanted it or not. "You need two people to hang the gate and get the hinges right. Someone has to hold up the other end." The thought of some one-on-one time with the pretty therapist sent his mind to spinning and anticipation surging through his veins.

  She blinked as if she'd never considered that possibility.

  Pushing his advantage, he gave a slight nod. "I'll grab my tools, follow you home, and help you get that gate fixed."

  "But… but…"

  Night shook his head. "No arguments."

  "He likes to work with his hands. And, with him gone, I can watch my soap opera in peace and quiet." His mother chimed in.

  "See?"

  "Well, I guess so. If you really don't mind."

  His lips twitched at Summer's reluctant acceptance. Stubborn and independent. He would give her credit for both traits in abundance. They only added to her intrigue and attraction as he much preferred self-reliant women over those that couldn't lift a finger to help themselves. He worked hard and expected a woman to pull her own weight, not simply sit upon her throne and look beautiful to admirers. Summer certainly fit that bill from what he determined thus far.

  * * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Night pulled into her gravel driveway, following her car up to a pair of huge overhanging oak trees. Parking the truck, he stepped out, taking in the view. An old two story white farmhouse stood in the middle of fenced pastures, the driveway serving as a dividing line. The house appeared in good repair, sporting a large covered front porch with steps leading down to the ground. A green, floral-patterned swing occupied one corner, inviting guests to take a seat, drink a glass of lemonade, and spend a lazy afternoon watching nature. He wanted to do just that. Tuck Summer under his arm, pull her against his body, and spend the afternoon talking and cuddling.

  With a rueful grin, he shook his head. Mother's nagging must be getting to me. His interest and attraction to Summer's girl-next-door ways baffled him. In all his prior experiences, he sought women considered more traditionally sexy. High heels, short dresses, make-up, painted nails, and dressed in the latest fashion were the ones that drew attention before. One day, he would stumble across one and decide to keep her. Liar. The voice in his head disagreed immensely, clamoring at him to pay attention to what stood right in front of him.

  Summer bounded up the steps, opening the door and allowing a large white fluffy dog out. The animal greeted her with licks and tail wags before lifting her nose to the air. Seconds later, she trotted toward him, deep brown eyes watching him with intensity.

  "Night. Meet Murphy, the Great Pyrenees."

  He reached out, holding one hand for the dog to sniff. Once she did so and decided he proved to be no threat, she moved closer, leaning her heavy frame against his legs. "Murphy, huh?" He petted her head, scratching behind her ears, not the least unbalanced with the addition of her weight.

  Summer moved closer, rubbing the dog's chin. "The rescue named her that when they took her in. She responded to it, so I kept it." She smiled at the dog, bending down to receive another lick across the face.

  He found himself grinning at the spectacle. "Rescue? She was a stray?"

  "Yeah." She stood once more, keeping a hand on Murphy. "The neighb
ors saw her living around the highway for a while, surviving off road kill. Finally, someone with a heart picked her up and took her to the pound. A large dog rescue pulled her from there at the last minute before she was put down. Those wonderful people sheared her down to get all the mats out, got her spayed, and all the vet care she needed. I saw her at a mobile adoption site and fell in love. She's the best dog."

  Night rubbed one hand across Murphy's back, noting the soft, thick coat. "Bet you're handy with a brush." He teased, enjoying the joy and pride evident in Summer's demeanor.

  She chuckled. "Oh, yeah." Reaching down, she tugged on the dog's collar. "Come on, Murphy. You better go to the bathroom then it's back inside for you. Way too hot for you to be out in this sun. Air conditioner is more your style."

  Sure enough, the dog trotted off, nose to ground to find the perfect spot. After finishing her business, she jogged up the stairs with her long pink tongue hanging out, heading back through the door Summer held open.

  A shuffling noise caught his attention. Spinning around, he found three tall horses standing at the fence, watching him with rapt attention. Must be the rescued thoroughbreds Summer mentioned.

  Walking over, he reached out to the nearest one, a black with just a spot of white on his nose and two white socks on his front legs. His practiced gaze raked over each horse, studying their conformation, their lines, and rippling muscles. He whistled low. Talk about well-bred, high-class horseflesh.

  As a kid, he'd longed for a horse of his own. A typical dream of most children, he assumed. But, no matter how hard his mother worked, a farm full of beautiful horses wouldn't come to pass. That fact didn't deter him in the least. Notching his fascination down to his Native American heritage, he studied the animals, learned everything he could, checked out every library book devoted to the study of such noble beasts. In junior high, his dream nearly came true. For holding high grades, high risk students were rewarded with an all expense paid trip to the summer camp of their choosing. One of those camps featured a ranch setting, complete with horses, cattle, and riding the range, being a real cowboy for two weeks. He leapt at the chance, soaking up every minute and each tiny bit of knowledge that he could from the workers and vets at the Rising Sun Ranch. More motivated than ever, he worked extra hard to make straight As in school, earning a return trip for six consecutive years.

  Once he graduated high school, he longed for college and to pursue further education, but fell short due to lack of funds. A couple of scholarships came his way, but neither proved to be full ride and only paid a portion of the high cost of higher education. Not discouraged, he looked to the army, enrolling right after graduation.

  In all honesty, he pushed aside his love of horses and dreams of owning and riding them once he entered the military. After all, when you had no real home of your own, were sent all over the world at a moment's notice, and had no inkling when or if you would make it back, dreams such as a farm, family, and children became a distant fog. You learned to live in the present, not hope for the future.

  He didn't realize how much he still dreamed of a life with horses until now, his hand resting on a chiseled, regal face, the smell of dust and hide fresh in his nostrils. If he closed his eyes, he could easily transport back to those glorious days at the ranch, spending hours in the saddle, and loving every minute of it.

  "Aren't they beautiful?" Summer's voice carried to him as she moved to stand at his side, stroking the forehead of a bay.

  "Gorgeous." The words came out automatically as he marveled over such amazing animals. He always considered racehorses to be nervous and jumpy, even temperamental. Nothing in their behavior resembled those previous beliefs. Instead, each one pushed against the other, seeking nothing more than a human hand to rub their shiny hide. Each one carried themselves well, nicely rounded with a layer of fat over their ribs, looking to be in the peak of health.

  Glancing down, he checked out their long legs, noticing extra large, bulging knees on one of them. "What's wrong with his knees?" He asked, using both hands to stroke under the noseband of a leather halter, grinning when the tall black gelding nearly groaned in contentment.

  "Bone chips. That's Domino, by the way. He raced for a while but only earned modest winnings. When he developed bone chips, they retired him. His owners didn't feel he warranted life as a stud, so they allowed a thoroughbred adoption program to take him rather than send him to the slaughterhouse. The foster home gelded him, had surgery done on his knees, and basically prepared him for life as a pasture pet since he can't be ridden."

  A blood bay with a strong white stripe down the center of his face pushed his nose into Night's chest, nudging pointedly for attention. All but his left rear leg carried white stockings, contrasting nicely with the deep reddish-brown color.

  "Okay. Okay. I get the message." Night chuckled at the antics of the shortest horse in the group, but only by a couple of inches at the withers. All three had to stand around sixteen hands, in his opinion.

  Summer giggled. "And that's Tolly. He's quite the ham."

  "What's his story?" Night rubbed over the sleek muscles of Tolly's neck.

  "He's the oldest, twenty-one this year. Back in his day, he was quite the racehorse, won a handful of major grade-one races, came in third in the Kentucky Derby. As he got older, he began to lag, so they set him up for stud. Unfortunately, they soon discovered he was sterile. The owners kept him around as a pet and to hang out in the pasture with the newly weaned foals, like a nanny. But, as times got a bit harder and he aged, they made the decision to let him go. Luckily, the rescue took him in and let me adopt him."

  "You have some prime horseflesh, here." He commented, amazed that he stood in the middle of nowhere, petting horses that once ran and won, earning their owners thousands of dollars, perhaps more. Never before had he considered what happened to retired racehorses or the ones that simply didn't make the grade to begin with. Now that he knew, he applauded the organizations transitioning such beautiful and deserving animals into an adoptive home for average people to admire and love.

  Summer sidestepped before reaching over the fence to caress the nose of the tallest horse, a dark gray gelding with deep black eyes, a wide, powerful build, and white mane with a matching tail that brushed the ground. The animal stepped closer, snuffling her ear before resting his chin on her shoulder. She massaged his neck with a smile on her face. "This is Ghost. He's a great grandson of Secretariat. Major bloodlines and lots of money went into his breeding."

  Night appraised the gray horse for the first time, once again astounded at the racing royalty that stood before him. "Did he race?"

  She nodded, tucking her fingers under his halter to rub an itchy spot on his cheek. "Yeah. From what the owners said, either he lacked the speed or the heart or both. He basically fell short of their expectations, so they sent him away, replaced him with another more profitable animal."

  He glanced over at her, seeing the sadness flash across her face as she spoke of the side effect of breeding and raising thousands of racehorses every year. Like the overpopulation of dogs and cats, each year a surplus of horses existed, those that didn't make the cut on the track. The slaughterhouse took most of those, he imagined, but a few lucky ones ended up in adoptive homes, living out their days as big pets and companion animals, or even managed a second career if their health stood up to the task.

  "Were these the only horses they had at the time?"

  "Oh, goodness no." Summer fussed over the gray gelding some more. "I only visited one foster farm and saw perhaps seven or eight horses. I'm sure they had more and know, for a fact, that other foster homes exist. Since I leaned toward adopting a pasture pet rather than a horse that I could show and ride in events, they steered me toward the one place."

  "So, why these three?" He resumed brushing Tolly's forelock with his fingers, straightening the black hair to center between his eyes.

  She tilted her head this way and that as if searching for an answer. "I'm not really s
ure. To be corny, they called to me. Something just meshed. Does that make sense?" She glanced over at him.

  He nodded. "Yeah, it does." Just like his attraction to her. She simply called to him on some basic level.

  For the first time, he truly saw Summer's innate goodness, her true compassion, not only for people but for animals in need. She said only one horse could be ridden, the gray had to be it. The other two, she simply fed and cared for, shelling out a lot of money for the simple joy of having such beautiful and pedigreed animals grace her pasture. Most people would expect a horse to be useful, have some means of earning their keep. Not Summer.

  Once again, she knocked him off balance. His respect for her grew as did his need to be near her, soak up the radiant glow that she emitted. Deep inside, his heart stuttered as he watched her interact with her horses. He wanted her to look at him that way, to touch him with gentle reverence, to softly praise his strength and handsomeness, to physically show him her love and devotion.

  His groin tightened immediately at the images flashing through his head. Setting his back teeth, he fought the natural reaction, reminding himself of the hot and sweaty work ahead. A picture of her white T-shirt soaking with sweat, leaving the material to cling to her flat belly and outline those modest, bra-covered breasts came to mind.

  Tolly stamped a hoof to shake off a fly, pulling Night's attention back to the task at hand. "I suppose we should get to it. It's already getting hot and will only get hotter."

  Summer patted Ghost's neck once more before stepping back. "Good idea. Let me grab a cooler with drinks, then we'll head to the side pasture." She pointed to the location. "The gate is out in the sun, unfortunately. There are lots of trees, some really big ones in the pastures, but that particular spot never gets shade."