At the Edge of a Dark Forest Page 6

  Carly tried not to stare at the raw emotion displayed in Cole’s features. His left hand fiddling with the linen napkin.

  “He was eager to kill the enemy. Too eager.” Cole’s laugh was bitter. “Save his country from the evil-doers and all that.” He shook his head. “I didn’t look forward to the first time he actually did. I knew it would change him. He cared too much about each person he met. All my men joked about it. Even bet on how he’d react at his first kill—cry, vomit, go psycho or AWOL. But secretly, we were all afraid for him.”

  “I pushed him hard—harder than anyone else. Part of my mind told me it was to make him tough, but the other part was hoping he’d beg to be transferred. Not likely in war, but still.”

  Cole looked up from the napkin. “Do you know what he said, one day after I’d drilled him especially hard?” His blues eyes sought the question more than his words.

  Carly could barely speak looking into them. “What?”

  “He said, ‘Thank you, sir.’ I asked, ‘For what?’ and he said, ‘For making me a better Marine.’” Cole’s shoulders rose and dropped at the breath forced out. He scoffed. “A better Marine. I just wanted him gone.”

  Cole waited as the grandfather clock finished seven gongs. “Then the day finally came. We were in a street fight in Ramadi. We were hours behind buildings shooting at snipers on roof tops and around corners. My men were well trained so we picked off our share of the enemy. Just what Beckett said he’d wanted to do. He took one off the roof. The guy fell to the street and lay there in a tangled heap, blood everywhere. I eyed Beckett, prepared to deal with the potential impact. I could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard at the image. Beckett’s chin quivered, but his sight never wavered. He picked off two more enemy on the dirt road.”

  Was Cole proud of the young Marine, or embarrassed he’d been wrong? Carly couldn’t figure out how this event had traumatized this man to the point his eyes raged whenever Beckett’s name was mentioned. She could tell there was more, so she let silence give him permission to continue.

  “When we got back to camp, he’d disappeared. Several of the men joked he’d gone AWOL. I looked everywhere and when I couldn’t find him I started to panic, wondering if it was true. Finally, I checked the make-shift chapel and there he sat. His agonizing sobs made it hard for me to near, but I knew I needed to. He sat, face in his palms, black-leather book open on his lap. I could tell he’d noticed me, but he didn’t stop crying, so I waited.”

  “Finally, a broken voice emerged. ‘How do you do it, sir?’ he said. I assumed he meant the killing, but I didn’t have an answer so I gave him none. I’d figured it had something to do with never getting close, unlike Beckett, who’d learned the local’s names and gave candy to the children. Still, it didn’t seem the proper time to reprimand him for that.”

  “The sobs quieted, his chest labored up and down with his hard breaths. His finger ran along some words on the book in front of him and he seemed to calm. I couldn’t see the type on the page, just the title on the top—Psalms. He later told me he read those because they were written by a warrior king, someone who knew the horrors of war, but could also pray for those who persecuted him. I never got that, but I wasn’t going to question him on it either. I just know it seemed to help after a fight and I was good with that.”

  The way the chandelier’s light swam in the liquid of Cole’s eyes brought a lump to Carly’s throat. He must have sensed it because he dropped his gaze to the table and fisted the linen napkin.

  “I left the chapel, but watched for him. He came out an hour later. In the weeks that followed, I found him on his knees at every break.” Cole’s lip curled. “I guess he was beseeching his God.” The way Cole’s finger circled the rim of his milk glass, Carly knew he wished it filled with liquor. “Like this God would save him.” The venom in Cole’s voice burned. “Still, Becket didn’t crack, he got stronger. We all expected him to stop learning the language from the locals and giving stuff to the kids, but he didn’t. In fact, he seemed more intent to treat them as friends.”

  Carly’s eyes stung with forming tears. By the look on Cole’s face she suspected the end of the story would be tragic, but she wouldn’t find out tonight because Cole pushed himself up with his crutch and hobbled out of the dining room. “I need some air.”

  She watched him shrink in the distance of the hallway, wishing she could meet the man who’d inspired such emotion in Cole, but she suspected that would be impossible this side of heaven.

  Chapter Eight

  AT THE EDGE OF A DARK FOREST

  by Connie Almony

  “Hey, Carly.” Manny waved before he shot the basketball into the hoop mounted to the side of the garage. Carly waved back and smiled at the young man in blue jeans that dragged the concrete over his bare feet.

  “Nice shot.” Cole focused on Manny without even turning to greet Carly himself. “Now let’s see you do it one-handed.”

  “Show me again.” Manny tossed him the ball as if careful to aim it toward the intact hand. Cole curled his arm around it to catch, rolled the ball on his chest to position it in his palm, then lobbed it at the basket. Their easy banter lent the idea that this was not a first time event and wouldn’t be a last.

  Carly wasn’t close enough to hear the rest of the conversation as she headed toward the stables. The image conjured the tale of the young Marine Cole had spoken of the night before. Her heart ached at the pain she’d seen, so evident in is his blue eyes. What was the rest of that story? Would he ever tell her? She wanted to know more about the softer side of this man she lived with, but he seemed most protective of it.

  Carly quickened her steps to the stable, needing to speak with the hippotherapist before Cole joined them. The weathered wooden building took on an ominous gloom, its enlarging figure threatening to engulf Carly as she neared. A horse whinnied sending lightning down her back. Ha! Lightning. That horse was certainly the origin of her panic. She halted and steadied her breath. Did Joe really expect her to walk beside that enormous animal? What could she do? Catch Cole if he fell? Not likely.

  She heard the clip-clop of hooves even before the man appeared leading Lightning out of the stables. His softened Asian features almost mirrored those of Joe’s, though more westernized and younger. His worn jeans and NEEDTOBREATHE concert T told Carly she’d like the man. Relaxed, and had great taste in music.

  He caught her eye. “You must be Carly.” The warmth in his expression brought a measure of comfort.

  But only a measure.

  She stood at a distance, eying the large, dark monster beside him. “Yes.”

  “I’m Sam. Joe’s son.” He reached out to shake, but when Carly hesitated, he stepped away from the animal to grasp her hand. His smile grew into the same shape Joe’s did as he looked between her and Lightning. He patted the horse’s neck. “You a little nervous?”

  She chuckled. “How’d you guess? The sweat on my brow? My trembling hands? Or the oceans of distance I like to keep between me and him … uh … her?”

  “None of the above. Dad told me.”

  “Guess I didn’t hide it very well.”

  “Hide something from my father?” He grimaced. “Not likely.”

  Carly scanned the pasture by the stable. “Look, is this really necessary, getting Cole to ride today?” She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets. “He doesn’t even have the prosthetics yet. Shouldn’t we wait until he’s accustomed to them before he starts?”

  Sam’s eyes sparked, his smile grew. “Not to mention it might be dangerous for you.”

  Carly harrumphed.

  Sam stroked the mane of the beast. “Dad said we better get him on before he changes his mind. He and Lightning have a history together. Once Cole rides, they’ll likely fall into it again.”

  She sucked in a breath. “It’s the ‘fall into’ part that worries me. They have a history for that as well.”

  Sam’s fingers ran the length of Lightning’s nose. He shook his
head. “That won’t happen this time. Lightning is too old for that kind of speed anymore. Which is what makes her perfect for this job. Most therapy horses are retired. Besides, we won’t let them go too fast.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “Carly, this is more than getting a man on a horse. This is both physical therapy and even psychotherapy for him. We’re using horses to help wounded vets heal from physical trauma, brain injury and even PTSD.” He drew in a breath as if knowing he’d need sustenance against her negativity. “At the very least it will help teach him how to walk with two legs again.”

  How could a horse teach Cole how to walk? Wasn’t that her job? “I can do that fine, as his physical therapist, and without a horse.”

  He sighed. “I’m sure you can, but this can only add to what you’re doing.” He looked at the horse with endearment. “And while it does, he’ll enjoy it. Riding a horse simulates the back and forth motion of walking in the hips.” He pointed to the striped blanket over the horse’s back. “When doing therapy, we don’t use a saddle. That way, the rider feels the motion without needing to exert the effort himself. It becomes natural. And from what my dad tells me, Mr. Cole’s gait is anything but natural. Using the crutch has developed the upper left side of his body and the lower right side in such a way his musculature is uneven. Riding could help to balance him with very little effort on his part.”

  He stepped the horse closer.

  Carly backed away.

  Sam’s smile tilted. “You’ll see. This horse will help Mr. Cole. I’m certain.” His eyes grew soft. “I remember watching him ride when I was a boy.” He shook his head as if words couldn’t describe the image. “They were amazing together. Like one. There’s a bond between horse and rider, even when they don’t have the history these two had. Patients who have difficulty in relationships, for whatever reason, can have one better with a horse. And relationships heal.”

  Carly folded her arms, but something about that last statement resonated. Yes, Carly knew her own work was about more than providing adaptive equipment. She’d miss that piece sitting in the business office of the company her dad wanted her to start.

  Sam wiggled his brows. “Who knows, we might even get you to bond with Lightning.”

  Now that was crazy. “To think, I was almost beginning to find you credible,” she said on a laugh.

  Cole appeared on the path, hobbling up the hill with his lone crutch. He took in the occupational therapist, then swung his attention to Carly. His jaw tensed.

  Lightning whinnied and shook her mane as he neared, her hooves moved restlessly beneath her as though trying to get to something she loved. Cole’s attention moved to the horse. He stopped and stared, his chest rising and falling in long, slow waves. His gaze seemed to absorb the animal as though finally reunited with something long ago treasured.

  His expression seemed to tangle with emotion until he spied Carly, arms folded more tightly around her as she stepped away from the agitated creature.

  His left brow rose. “You okay, Beauty?”

  She rubbed her upper arms. “I’m fine.”

  Cole’s lips lifted into a sardonic grin.

  “Mr. Cole, I’m Sam, Joe’s son.”

  Cole scanned the man up and down. “Yes,” he drawled. “You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

  Sam hesitated. “Um … well … It’s been about fifteen years.”

  Cole neared Lightning and smoothed her mane. She whinnied at his touch, her tail swishing back and forth. “So you’re an occupational therapist now?”

  “Yes, for several years.”

  Cole fingered the blanket over the horse’s back and turned to stare down at Sam. “Where do we start?”

  Sam led the horse to a ramped platform. “Dad built this so you could mount the horse more easily.”

  Cole hobbled up the incline.

  Sam held the reins to keep the horse still. “Carly, why don’t you help him with his crutch.”

  Carly stepped on the platform, took the crutch and allowed Cole to use her shoulder for support as he swung his residual left leg over the horse. Lightning stood absolutely still as if she knew the importance of this ride.

  “Now, Carly, come along to the side and walk with Lightning.”

  She hesitated, stepped down the ramp and neared as the horse began to move forward.

  Cole chuckled. “Is she supposed to catch me from falling—way over there?”

  Sam laughed.

  Carly inched closer, but kept enough distance not to get stepped on. Her body tensed at full alert to every move the beast might make.

  But there was a stillness in the air as the horse’s hooves landed in the grass in a calming, four-part rhythm. Carly could almost feel the movement between man and beast, in tandem with each other. Cole sat high on Lightning’s back, as though perched on a throne. A bird sang from a tree. The wind rustled through Carly’s hair bringing the mingled scent of both pine and horseflesh to her nostrils, but none of that drowned out the sound of the grass.

  Until she heard Cole’s breath become labored.

  Sam didn’t give any instruction, just walked along the pasture, allowing the movement to rock Cole’s body side to side and front to back. Carly’s muscles relaxed as she sensed the care of the animal for her master.

  Cole’s labored breathing hitched and Carly worried he may be having a relapse of the DTs or a flashback of combat. She stole a glance to find his expression fighting emotion that struggled to be set free. He looked away. Carly dropped her gaze to the animal’s shoulder, watching its muscles contract and release, push and pull.

  Another hitch from his vocal chords as his left hand slid round the neck of the animal and held fast. Cole buried his face in Lightning’s mane; an agonizing sob rent the air. It wrung Carly’s heart dry. She could hardly breathe.

  Sam stilled the horse. Carly neared, worrying Cole might fall. He’d latched on, practically prostate over Lightning’s absolutely silent form. Carly placed a hand over Cole’s. He grasped her fingers as more sobs shook his body, muffled into the sleek shiny coat of his friend.

  What could she do now? She looked to Sam for clues. He stood, motionless as though this was not unexpected. He nodded to Carly, which told her not to worry—and that he was right.

  Moments seemed to turn to hours before a great sniffling sound emerged and Cole wiped his eyes on the horse’s mane. He drew in a sustaining breath, sat straight and commanded in a strangled voice, “Walk on.”

  The horse moved forward, Cole sitting straight again, Carly’s hand still in his. It was at that point Carly realized, she was right up against the horse … and it didn’t bother her one bit.

  CARLY SHIFTED LEFT in her bed, then right. Tangled in her sheets, she bolted up. Sleep would not come, only thoughts of the past several weeks. Fitting Cole with the prosthetics and beginning his rehab brought so many emotions to the surface. She’d expected Cole to be emotional—as often happens when a patient walks again after a period of disability—but the most intense soul-stirring had been hers.

  Her mind had replayed Cole’s first ride with Lightning as she’d warned him the initial prosthetic alignment appointments often caused some vulnerability for patients.

  He stood on the new limb, leaning heavily on the parallel bars, his gaze catching her with his droll expression. “Do you expect me to cry?”

  She didn’t know how to respond, feeling as though she’d intruded on an intimate moment between the man and his horse the day before. He almost seemed to be challenging her to bring it up.

  She didn’t dare.

  His gaze dropped to the new foot, lathering his words with the arrogance only he could bestow, “I promise I’ll maintain better control of myself today.”

  And he did. Except for a few moments where his voice had cracked.

  He kept telling her the new leg felt good, when she could see in his gait it was not. She’d adjust the prosthesis more, and his breath would catch at the change. “Th
is is much better than the leg I had before.” He walked back and forth, brow in a knot, breaths coming in excited waves. He looked at Carly like a little boy on Christmas day with a present he didn’t know he wanted. Her heart swelled and broke at the same time.

  The past several weeks of rehab brought more of the same. That’s what kept her awake at two o’clock in the morning. The idea that a human being would settle for less in his life, his body, and his relationships, because he believed nothing better existed.

  Cole, there is so much more.

  It seemed the only cure for the roller coaster of her mind would be to get one of Mrs. Rivera’s lemon bars from the kitchen. Maybe a heavy dose of carbohydrates would soothe her troubled nerves.

  Carly took the long walk through the upstairs hall, past all those rooms that were built to be filled with party guests. She padded down the stairs, pulling her terry robe tighter around her PJs, clutching her light romance read in her hand. The novel should help take her mind off the heaviness that was Cole’s empty world.

  She could almost taste the tart lemon bars now.

  “No!” Cole’s voice pierced the quiet.

  Carly’s attention jerked toward the hall to his room.

  “Get down-get down-get down.” The words shot like a rapid-fire machine-gun.

  She ran to his opened bedroom door and found him wrestling his sheets. Who was he fighting and how would it end? Carly froze.

  She couldn’t just stand there, but what could she do?

  Cole’s body calmed, but his breaths still labored. Carly neared his bed, clutching her novel, and watched.

  “Move!” More an order than a shout.

  That day in the hospital her touch seemed to soothe him. Should she try again? She knelt to his side and laid her book on the floor. His body jerked and she fell back.

  Carly approached again, Cole’s breaths heaving in large gulps. Should she touch his hand? What would he do if he woke to find her there?

  She pulled back, but felt the need to stop the nightmare, so she reached out again, her hand meeting his.