HEARING JADA’S softer chuckle, it resonated with acknowledgement and denial of how near they stood. Brett took in her face, bright with joy and flushed with cold. The combination gave him another aspect of her to admire. But…did he seriously aim to seal their joke with a kiss? At odds within, he gently released her and stepped back, gesturing to the land.
“All right, Miss Jada Maude. If you must know, the place is mine, but I also have funding for a special project. I’m starting a recovery clinic.”
A curious tilt of her head accompanied a crease in her brow. “What type of medicine do you practice?”
“Me, I’m a family practitioner. Lance is a certified youth counselor. He’ll be on-hand if anyone needs immediate help, but the long-term therapy is conducted at the hospital and covered through them. This won’t be so much a medical clinic, as a therapeutic facility. But here, this place already has the space, barn, corral. The minute I saw it, I knew I couldn’t put off my dream any longer. Patients meeting certain criteria will visit for animal therapy. A few dogs, a couple of horses. Connecting with an animal has great healing ability. I want to be able to give them that.”
His face ached from his grin, and he turned away, embarrassed at all the babbling he’d done.
“Sorry. Can’t shut me up sometimes.”
“No, no. I can see the enthusiasm in your face. I like that you’re excited about it.” Her evaluating gaze softened when he glanced back. “I would be, too, if I sat on the edge of my dream. Thanks for sharing. But…you can do all that? How will you even care for a horse?”
He laughed. “We grew up around horses. Our father…” Brett had enjoyed the stables until his late teens when he discovered his father spent quality time with his twenty-year-old instructor. Over the years, he found out how many twenty-somethings Dad liked to spend time with. Mom stayed. He’d never understand. Not for lack of money. She had a deep enough purse to never need alimony. “Never mind.”
“It would have been nice to have a dad.” Jada’s statement pulled him from his thoughts to hers. She looked to be miles away.
“Right. Only your sister. How old were you?”
“One. Judith two.”
“Are they passed or just not in the picture?”
Jada’s nose wrinkled briefly. “Mom gave us up. She died years later. No father was ever in the picture. I fantasized about having one.”
“A dad? I have a dad. From my experience you didn’t miss much.”
She glanced at him while she turned to fold her arms on the railing and lean over it with a shrug. “I’m sorry about that. Not everyone has a good experience, I suppose.” She looked out to the snow-covered expanse. “Is this your favorite spot?”
Slowly, he moved closer, mindful of the personal space barrier. “How did you know?”
“Anyone would love it. It’s fantastic, like a Christmas card.” Mischief filled her eyes. “Tell me about your wasteland.”
He chuckled at the phrase, but thought of his houseful of people. “I prayed to make this place a comforting haven. Guess I got my wish.”
Jada returned his grin, and he shared a quick overview of the animal therapy clinic; simple, but life-impacting. He got close to crossing the barrier while he pointed out landmarks, told her he’d take her around to view the barn and corral in the morning, and found himself speaking in a low rumble of a voice answering her questions until he stopped talking altogether. In time, the two of them stood gazing out at nothing.
Quietly, she turned as if coming awake. “Did you grow up on a farm?”
“No. My father’s a surgeon.”
“Ahh, following in his footsteps.”
He huffed. “Hardly. Dad’s a cold type of personality. Mom follows the social calendar. Lance and I were raised by a lot of nannies, and one got us hooked on Bible stories. Church became an escape from our superfluous life at home.”
“That answers my next question. Your parents aren’t saved.”
“They take the quote about loving money to the extreme.”
“Sorry. No more dad questions for tonight. Promise.”
“You know. One dad’s doing a pretty good job, and we can help him out. Interested?”
“What did I tell you about elaborating?” She rolled a hand in the air. “Interested in what? Going where? Is this how you impress your patients?”
He leaned forward. “Jada Maude, look around. The only person I intend to impress is you.”
She turned, smiling.
“Come on. I promised Mohammed I’d bring firewood and check on them around seven.” He moved around her toward the steps.
“Now see, that I understand. Why is that so hard to say in the first place?”
He stopped and turned to her. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I have one. It doesn’t understand you.”
“It needs tweaking.”
Her arms rose like she tried to cross them in the oversized coat, but they wouldn’t fold. “Fine. What do I have to do?—and don’t say, ‘Follow me.’”
Brett paused. That’s exactly what he was about to say. He took hold of her hand and backed down the steps. “Think you’re smart.”
“I know I am. What counts is, you do, too.”
His thick glove around her clumpy mitt fit. Smiling down at the smart-mouth, he pulled her along. Yeah, he liked that quick sense of humor. He liked her company after only hours of knowing she existed. The simple act of holding her mitted fingers made his pulse race, didn’t want to let go. He needed to come to his senses.
Brett slipped inside the back door to alert the others they’d be gone a while. A disgusted eye-roll from one of the young ladies told him he should have given that bit of news to his brother alone. Sled already loaded, thanks to the other men, they jumped onto the back of the snowmobile and headed off.
The trip was short. The Mansouris, grateful for the privacy, thanked him over and over. He hadn’t done anything, but glad he had a place where they were safe and satisfied.
“Step on it, doc!” Jada screeched above the motor when they started the short journey back.
He’d laughed most of the ride. Jada howled at the moon, leaning back with amused sounds and carefree shrieks. He wished he could have seen her. Her arms were slack, but then hugged tight if the mobile hit the smallest dip or bump. At the house, she slid from the low vehicle to the ground, a starfish staring up at the sky. What a grin.
Neither of them were eager to get back inside.
Brett swung his leg over the seat and leaned on his elbows to observe her. “Not cold?”
“Not yet.”
“Um.” He chipped at snow with the toe of his boot. “I know it’s only Day One, but when are you expected at your sister’s? I mean, when the roads are cleared, will…”
Her head slanted to view him from a straighter angle. “Trying to get rid of me so soon?”
He swayed his knees, his mind in search of an answer that didn’t come. But he offered a somber smile to tell her just the opposite.
“How about I answer that question in the morning? I’m a little out of sorts right now.”
Could he ask her to spend her morning with him? “We’ll play it by ear. No pressure.” Yes, pressure.
“That works for me.”
“ARE YOU warm enough?”
Jada smiled at Brett’s apparent concern. She’d been sprawled in the snow for a few minutes, a sweet exchange of conversation between them, though she couldn’t believe she’d allowed him to intermittently stare down at her for long periods. His insulated jacket made her feel at home. “The only thing cold is my nose.”
She covered it with her hand to help transfer some heat. A star twinkled. She let her hand fall away to marvel at the sky. How peaceful it was here. Never mind waiting for canine and equestrian, the skies and snow-covered terrain worked their therapy on her.
No following romantic notions though. She and Brett would never see one another again after a few days. She wouldn?
??t even entertain the notion of being online friends, and subject to witness what joy he would eventually find without her.
Cold shivered through her bones.
“That’s it. I can’t let you stay down there any longer.” In one smooth motion, Brett slid forward from the snowmobile and positioned himself above her. A knee at one hip, his right foot beside her other.
Before she knew she could be handled like a rag doll, he’d grasped around her middle and pulled. Instinct set her feet beneath her. Her hands found his shoulders for purchase out of pure surprise of the swift move. He remained on bended knee before her as if ready to propose.
She gave his shoulders a pat. “Thanks.”
His face was shrouded in the shadow she cast over him from the house behind her, but she could guess the haunting insistence in his gray eyes as neither of them stirred from their positions. Everything in her knew what his face said, why his breathing slowed, why she insisted on keeping eye contact neither one of them could define in the dark.
Was she the only one who experienced them sucked into a vacuum? A stasis of moments unique to them and this place?
Jada’s hands slid an inch closer to his collar. Was this her? Taking responsibility for her actions, she glided her hands up the raised jacket collar to cup his face. His stubble scratched against her mitts.
He was real. This was a real moment. And she could live in the vacuum or return to practicality.
Aside from the slow motion of her hands, neither of them budged. Then…subtle…she felt Brett apply pressure on her waist through the layers of coat and clothes. Come forward. Forward in the moment. But their moments already moved too quickly to process.
She wouldn’t tell him she had two weeks free. She wouldn’t share sentiments and open her emotions to a relationship that had no future beyond a few stranded days. But she sure had a hard time defending why she wasn’t about to respond to his prompts and kiss him in a few seconds.
Remember who you are in Christ. Her foster mother’s parting sentiment floated like an echo in her head. She wouldn’t forget, though it was hard to think straight. Or was she already thinking straight? There were too many thoughts in her mind. Thoughts that made her slide her thumb on Brett’s jaw, then lean over to press her face and lips there. Her blood swooshed in her ears. His skin, cool; and the stubble, an inviting contrast.
Holding his face with her other hand, she acknowledged a slice of denied attraction. She pressed her lips harder into the stubble. “Thanks again,” she whispered, but let go immediately, and found her way up the back steps to the house.
The door opened before she reached for it. Doug and a couple of others spilled out to light up cigarettes.
“What’s a‘ matter, doc? Fall off your tricycle?”
Doug was hilarious. She tittered, but became a little curious that Brett hadn’t moved. A glance over her shoulder caught the blissed-out gleam and loose smile as Brett rose from his knee.
CHAPTER SEVEN