Depths of Lake (5 page)

“Looks like someone really likes attention still,” I said as he walked up to my side.
 

“Not really, but his buddies like any excuse to party,” he said, his expression slightly embarrassed.

“This is your party?” I said, trying to not give him a smirk.
 
“How old are you now?”

He chuckled and shook his head.
 
“I’m twenty-five today.”
 
He took a small drink.
 
“But I just got home on leave, so they wanted to do a double celebration.”

I stiffened slightly, instantly recognizing the military cut hair and seeing the chain of dog tags around his neck that disappeared into his shirt.
 
The military life isn’t an easy one, and no one knows it better than a “military brat.”

“How long you home?” I asked.

“Six weeks,” he said with the most charming smile I’d ever seen.
 
“By the way, I’m Cal Richards.”

Six weeks later, Cal Richards and I were in love, deep and hard.
 
I said I’d wait for him while he was on his next tour.

And I did.
 
He came home nine months later for another six weeks.
 

Right in the middle of that, Cal asked me to marry him.
 
I said yes.

He went on what was supposed to be his last tour.
 
Nine more months and then he’d stay home with me.
 
We’d spend our summer planning the wedding, get married, and he’d stay for forever and be my husband.

But just three months into that tour, I got the call.

I trace my finger over his face in the photograph.
 
Cal was tough and a Marine.
 
But he was also sweet and kind and so funny.

I look back out at Lake’s apartment and feel a twinge of jealousy.
 
He’d gotten to spend time with Cal in those last days.
 
He’d gotten to laugh and joke with him, while I was here, missing Cal like crazy.

My heart aches.

“Riley, have you invited Lake to dinner yet?”
 
Mom’s voice carries up the stairs.

I look at the clock and realize I’ve just been sitting here for the last fifty minutes.

I walk down the stairs and the air smells heavenly.
 
Mom’s had a roast in the crock pot since this morning, and I can tell there are rolls in the oven.
 
“Dinner in fifteen minutes,” she says without looking at me.
 
She’s busy with the food.

My rain boots are well-worn and threatening to leak, but I pull them on and open the back door.
 
The rain has finished, but the ground is soggy and puddles are everywhere.
 
The stairs creek as I walk up to the apartment.

I knock softly on the door and wait.
 
When no one comes after a minute, I place my hand on the knob and push it open just a bit.

“Lake?”
I call quietly.
 
No reply.

I push the door open a bit more and step inside.
 
I look back toward the bedroom.
 
As far as I can see, it’s empty.
 
And the door to the bathroom is open and the light off.

“Lake?”
I call once more.

A soft snore pulls my eyes to the couch, and there I find him.

He’s changed into a pair of dry jeans, but that’s all he’s wearing.
 
A thickly muscled arm is lying across his eyes, his other arm hanging down toward the floor.
 
Bare feet hang over the arm of the couch.

His perfectly sculpted chest bears seven stars tattooed over his left breast.
 

His brows are furrowed, his expression concerned.

He’s a soldier who’s engaged in combat and he’s seen some horrible things.
 
He saw Cal blown to pieces.
 
I can only imagine the hell he must be seeing behind those lids right now.

I’m torn.
 
I want to wake him from whatever nightmare I know he’s having.
 
But I also know about PTSD and how dangerous it can to be to wake a soldier in this state.

His left shoulder twitches violently.
 
His face winces.

“Lake,” I say, soft and gentle.

He gives a little twitch, like me calling his name entered his dream, but he doesn’t wake.
 

“Lake,” I say, this time louder.
 
I keep my distance, standing by the door.

He jerks up from the couch, half sitting up.
 
His right hand reaches for his hip, as if he’s searching for a sidearm.
 
His eyes sweep the room and fix on me.
 
They’re bloodshot and wide.

“It’s okay,” I say, keeping my tone even and calm.
 
“It’s just me.”

His breathing is hard and fast and it takes a minute for him to calm down and realize he isn’t out on the battlefield, in the middle of a warzone.

“What do you want?” he asks.
 
His voice is hard and flat.

Soldiers don’t like admitting when they’re dealing with post-field issues.
 
I’ve caught him in a moment of trauma, and he doesn’t like it.

“Mom’s just about got dinner ready and asked me to come get you,” I say.
 
I’m not offended by his hard tone.
 
I understand.
 
“I’m sorry to wake you, but you looked like you were in a place you needed extraction from.”

He looks at me for another really long minute.
 
Lake has the most impassive eyes.
 
I can’t tell what’s going on behind them.
 
Is he angry?
 
Is he embarrassed?
 
Indifferent?
 
It’s impossible to tell.

“Yeah,” he finally replies.
 
He climbs off the couch and walks to the bedroom.
 
He looks over his shoulder at me just before he disappears behind the door.
 
My eyes drop away from him, embarrassed to realize he’s just caught me staring and embarrassed for the fact that I was.

But who
couldn’t
admire a body like that?

Thirty seconds later, he walks out with a long sleeved shirt on and socks on his feet.
 
He slips his boots on and we walk silently walk back to the house.

“How was your day?” Mom asks him as soon as we walk through the door.
 
She’s just finished setting the table and laying all the food out.

“Fine, thank you for asking, Mrs. James,” he says.
 
“Need a hand with anything?”

“I’ve got everything ready, just sit yourself down,” Mom says with a wink as she hangs her apron on its hook.

Lake and I sit on opposite ends of the table and Mom settles herself right in the middle.
 
She offers grace, and we help ourselves to the food.

“So, Lake,” Mom says as she dishes herself some canned corn that came from the garden last year.
 
She struggled to get it to grow all year, so she’s proud of the fifteen cans she did manage to get.
 
“Tell me a bit about yourself.
 
You grew up in Woodinville?”

Lake nods.
 
“Yeah.
 
Um, I graduated high school there.
 
My dad just retired as the head football coach there last year.
 
My brother teaches history at the high school.”

“How many siblings do you have?” Mom asks as she cuts her roll open and butters it.

He takes a second to swallow his bite.
 
“Three,” he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
 
“Like I said, my brother teaches at the high school.
 
Drake is the oldest.
 
He’s been married for about seven years now, I think.
 
He and Kaylee have four kids.”

“Ah,” Mom coos.
 
“I bet your nieces and nephews love you.”

That lopsided smile forms on his face.
 
His eyes actually light up.
 
“Nieces, just one nephew.
 
The two youngest girls are twins.”

“Adorable,” Mom says and places a hand over her heart.

Lake nods and pushes his potatoes around his plate.
 
“Then there’s my sister, Sage.
 
She and Julian got married almost a year and a half ago.
 
They own part of this financial security company in Bellevue.
 
I don’t really understand what it is they do for work, but they do really well with it.”

“Do you get along with your in-laws?” Mom asks.

Lake shrugs.
 
“Julian’s alright.
 
He’s kind of a huge nerd, but he’s got all these tattoos and looks like a bad boy, so I didn’t like him much the first time I found him in my sister’s bed.
 
But he’s a good guy.
 
He makes Sage happy.
 
Kaylee’s great.
 
She was actually one of my teachers my senior year.”

“That’s how they met?”

“Uh huh,” he says.
 
He takes a bite of the roast and chews for a moment.
 
He swallows.
 
“Then there’s Kale.
 
He just turned twenty-one five days ago.”

“The day you got home?” I
ask,
the first I’ve spoken since we were up in his apartment.

“Yeah,” he says with a little chuckle.
 
His entire face lights up when he does that.
 
He looks completely different.
 
Younger, fun, carefree.
 
“He’s actually a model.
 
And he’s doing surprisingly well.”

“A model?”
Mom asks with a chuckle.

Lake nods again.
 
“You heard of Shurrock and Fantasy?”

“Who hasn’t?” I say.
 
They’re only in the most expensive of malls and in places like Beverly Hills and New York, and scattered all across Europe.
 
I’ll never be able to afford any of their clothes.

“He just signed a deal with them about six months ago.
 
He’s kind of the face of the company now.”

“He’s the half-naked one on all their posters?” I ask as I raise an eyebrow.

“That’d be Kale,” he says with this somewhat embarrassed smile.

“He’s everywhere,” I say, setting my glass down.

“Like I said, he’s doing surprisingly well.”

He takes another bite, and I wait for him to continue.
 
But he doesn’t.

Lake is a man of few words, but he’s just spent the last ten minutes talking about his family.
 
Maybe even bragging a bit.
 
He’s proud of them.
 

“They all sound wonderful,” Mom says, giving him a big smile.

I watch him as we all eat.
 
I’m jealous.
 
I always wondered what it’d be like to have siblings.
 
I thought it would be nice to have an older brother.
 
But being in the military is hard, and having kids when you’re in the military is even harder.
 
So my parents had me and that’s all they ever wanted, they said.

But having three siblings and two in-laws?
 
All with such diverse lives?
 
It sounds amazing.

I go to bed that night, thinking way too much about Lake and his family.

CHAPTER FOUR

We go about our lives.
 
I train.
 
Mom talks to possible new clients.
 
I take Radio on a quick trail ride before the storm rolls in.
 
Lake works.
 
He mucks stalls.
 
Feeds the chickens.
 
Repairs their roof.
 
Changes the oil on the tractor.
 
Mom tends her garden, takes care of the office stuff.
 
Does whatever it is she does.
 
She seems stressed out.
 
Over what, I’m not sure, and she keeps brushing it off as nothing.
 

Tuesday night, just after I take the flag down, the rain starts.
 
Just a drizzle at seven in the evening.
 
It steadily gets heavier as the sky grows darker.

We have a truck full of sandbags delivered that afternoon.
 
My own truck sits on the side of the garage to make room for it.
 
The one load doesn’t seem like it could ever be enough for anything, but it’s the most we can afford right now.

Mom heads to bed around ten.
 
I sit on the back porch long after it gets
dark,
my feet crossed at the ankles, watching the rain come down.

I can’t see a thing, but I can hear the small streams that are already forming and running through our property.

My phone rings.
 
I fish in my pockets for it and check the ID.
 
It’s a number I don’t recognize it.
 
I answer it anyway.

“Hello?” I say absentmindedly.
 
I’m worrying about what state we’ll find the ranch in come morning.

So it takes me a second to realize no one is on the other line.

“Hello?” I say again.

No one replies so I hang up.

The sound of rain pounding our metal roof makes my stomach sink.
 
This isn’t going to be good.
 
I think of the horses.
 
Our house.
 
Our hay supply.
 
Everything that could get ruined with heavy flooding.

Sometime around midnight, I head inside.
 
I’m too on edge to go up to my room, so I settle into the couch.
 
I
flop
an arm over my eyes and try to ignore the sound of the pouring rain.

The crack of thunder pulls me sharply from sleep.
 
I bolt upright from the couch.

Gray light has barely started creeping into the horizon.
 
I search for the clock on the wall and it reads five-sixteen.

Just as I lie back down, there’s a horrendous screeching bay from the barn.

I bolt off the couch and ignore my shoes or a jacket.
 
My bare feet slap through the rivers of rain and gravel as I dart for the barn.

I know horse sounds.
 
I know when they’re hungry.
 
I know when they’re fighting.
 
I know when they’re scared of something.

And I know when they’re experiencing immense pain.

Lake rockets down his stairs, and we both burst into the barn at the same time.
 

“Trooper’s stall,” I say, nodding my head to his open gate.
 
The door leading out to the pasture passage that runs between the barn and the indoor arena into the
pasture,
is busted open.
 
We dart through it.
 
And my stomach curls at the site of blood and muscle and tissue.

Trooper shudders in the corner.
 
His breaths come in ragged hisses, a sound I’ve never heard a horse make.
 
He’s in pain.

Due to the gaping wound in his chest.

The fleshy, muscular part of his chest, the softest part of a horse, is ripped right open.
 
Blood drips to the soggy ground.
 
The exposed muscles twitch and shake.

“Looks like he reared up and came down on the post.”
 

It takes me a moment to pull out of my shock and register what Lake is saying.

He crosses over to a t-post, part of the fencing that leads out into the pasture, separating it from the indoor practice area.
 
It’s leaning sideways, hard.
 
There’s hair and blood sticking to it.

Trooper reared up, came down on the post, skewering himself, and then pulled back, ripping it right through his flesh and muscle.

“The storm,” I say, swallowing the bile creeping up my throat.
 
“The storm must have freaked him out.
 
I need…I need to call Dr. Wyze.”

“I’ll grab my phone upstairs,” Lake says.
 
He places a hand on my arm for just a moment as he walks past me.

I take hesitant steps forward.
 
And just when I’m three feet from him, lightning splits across the sky, illuminating the early dawn.
 
The sound of thunder cracks just a second later.

Trooper rears up again, one of his hooves clipping me in the shoulder and knocking me to the ground.
 
Mud splatters across my face and body.
 
But I don’t notice any of it.
 
I’m instantly
back
on my feet, reaching for the injured horse.

“Shh,” I coo to him.
 
My face scrunches up in pain as I see the blood drip faster from his chest.
 
“Come here boy.”
 
I place a shaking hand on his neck and slowly run it over his soaked fur.
 
“Come on.”

He shakes with each step.
 
His entire body shudders.
 
But he takes two steps and then four and we get back inside the barn to where it is dry.

Lake jogs toward me, extending out his cell phone.
 
“I’ll get him back to his stall.
 
You call whoever you need to call.”

I nod and walk toward the entrance of the barn as I dial Jesse’s number from heart.

“Dr. Wyze,” he answers groggily after four rings.

“Jesse, it’s Riley,” I say in a rush.
 
“One of our horses got spooked with the thunder, and he’s hurt.
 
Bad.
 
His entire chest is hanging open.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he says, his
voice suddenly alert
.
 
I hear him hastily getting ready as I describe his injuries, and he gives me instructions until he arrives.
 
I’m running for the house as we hang up.

I grab towels from the hall next to the bathroom and dart back outside.
 
Another roll of thunder sounds through the air, and I pray that Trooper will stay calm.

I breathe a small sigh of relief when I step back into the barn.
 
Lake is gently stroking Trooper’s neck, the two of them in the stall.
 
It doesn’t look as if the storm frightened him again.

“Help me hold these to the wound,” I
say,
my voice high and panicked.
 
I toss Lake a towel.
 
My stomach rolls again as I watch him, with no hesitation, push the two flapping pieces of flesh together, and then press the towel into the wound.

Trooper whinnies loudly, his nostrils flaring wide, his eyes panicked.
 
I stroke his neck, trying to keep him calm, but even more so, trying to keep myself from melting down.

We’ve had injuries here at James Ranch before.
 
They’re inevitable when dealing with so many animals after so many years.
 
We’ve had scraped up legs, had horses beat on each other for dominance, eye infections, twisted intestines.
 

But nothing
like
this.

“You okay?” Lake asks as he looks up at me.
 
He looks concerned.

My words don’t seem to want to work, so I simply nod my head.
 
I’m sure I’m stark white.

His eyes stay on me for a moment.
 
He doesn’t offer
comfort,
he doesn’t say it’s going to be okay.
 
After everything he’s seen, how could he ever feel he could honestly say that?

I hear Chico barking at the back door of the house and then three sets of footsteps splashing across the driveway.
 
Mom, Bear, and Chico burst inside.

“What’s going on?” Mom asks and I hear her approaching.
 

“Don’t come in—” I try to stop her.
 
But it’s too late.

Mom rounds the corner, her eyes instantly going to all the blood seeping through the towel and dripping onto the floor.
 
All the blood covering Lake’s hands and the blood and mud that’s smeared across my entire body.

“What…” she
stutters.
 
All the color drains from her face.
 
“What happ—”

Her knees give out, and I dart toward her and catch her just as she goes down.
 
I ease her to the ground, and Chico starts licking her face.
 
Bear paces around her, worry on his hairy face.

“What’s wrong with her?” Lake asks.
 
I look over my shoulder to see his concerned expression.
 
He looks torn, unsure if he should stay by the horse, or help me.

“Mom does not handle the sight of blood.
 
Especially so much,” I say as I ease her head to the ground.
 
“I should have told her to stay inside.”

I stand and cross back over to Trooper.
 
I grab a fresh towel.
 
“Trade me.
 
I’ll hold him together.
 
You take Mom inside.
 
Lay her on the couch.”

Lake nods, and I press a fresh towel over the soaked one as he removes his hands.
 
Trooper whinnies again and stomps his hooves.
 
I look over my shoulder and watch as Lake picks Mom up with no effort at all and heads out of the barn.
 
The dogs follow him.

I look back at Trooper and the back of my eyes sting.
 
This is bad.
 
He uses all those muscles to walk.
 
Horses have to be put down sometimes for injuries that prevent them from walking.

Just as I hear tires screech against pavement outside the barn, I try to tell myself that it could have been worse.
 
The post could have gone through his ribs.
 
It could have punctured a lung, or his heart.
 
It could have killed him instantly.

Jesse dashes inside, a huge medical bag in hand.
 
And as soon as I see him, my eyes well heavy and my insides quiver.
 
He kneels next to me and does a double take when he sees the tears spill out onto my cheek.

“It’s okay,” he says, eyes darting back and forth between my face and his bag as he pulls supplies out.
 
“I’m here, and I’ll take care of him, okay?”

I bite my lower lip and nod.
 

“He’s in a lot of pain right now, and he’s going to be in more when I start cleaning him out,” Jesse says as he pulls out a huge syringe.
 
“I’m going to sedate
him,
otherwise he’ll freak and hurt himself more.”

“Okay,” I say with a shaky breath.
 

I’m pissed at myself for breaking down like this.
 
My insides are a quivering
mess,
more tears are threatening to fall.
 
I’m tired, and this is a client’s horse.
 
And everything has just been all out of whack lately.

Jesse sinks the needle into Trooper’s skin.
 
Not ten seconds later, his head drops, and his eyes have trouble staying open.
 
He shifts his weight from one wobbly leg to the other.

“I can’t fully knock him out,” Jesse explains as he continues going through supplies.
 
“If he
lays
down, I won’t be able to access the injury.
 
But he won’t be feeling anything.
 
Can you hold his head up for me?”

I slip my shoulder under Trooper’s neck, settling his huge jaw bone onto it.
 
I lean my cheek against his and pat his neck.
 
Just then, Lake walks back into the barn, Chico at his feet.

“She seems okay,” Lake says, watching Jesse as he starts cleaning the wound out.
 
Chico paces impatiently around us all.
 
“Bear seemed to want to stay with her, so…”

“Good,” I say with a nod.
 
I look back at what Jesse is doing.
 
He’s flushed the wound out and is now applying this orange-brown goop everywhere.