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“Attaboy, Tate. I always knew you were an old gardener at heart. Thanks for the help, bud.”
Making his way back toward the rear of the house, Brady passed his tomato patch and picked several purple heirloom tomatoes, some fresh basil, a garlic clove, and both green and yellow bell peppers. On his way, he ambled over to the chicken house, walking into the covered pen, opening up the door to the hutch. Several of the chickens, usually his early risers, came bolting outside in a cloud of feathers and squawks, chased by his two roosters. He checked the nest for eggs and picked up seven blue and green eggs. One egg was so blue it was almost turquoise. He knew Emma would love using that one for their omelet this morning. He gathered all the things in the bottom of his t-shirt, holding the top of his shirt fastened like a bag, called Tate, and they climbed the stairs together onto the back deck and walked into the kitchen.
He set his wares down on the basket, rinsing the harvest from his garden and leaving them in the basket to drain in the sink. He didn’t hear anybody awake in the house but knew Maggie had been up to let Tate out.
He went to the freezer and picked out a patty of raw bison and wild boar he caught, which was Tate’s favorite. He added a few kibbles to his dish, thawed out the patty in the microwave, and mixed up a nice raw meat and sweet potato mixture that Tate dutifully devoured at his feet.
“You’re a good boy, Tate.” He bent down and petted the dog, who stopped eating temporarily to look up at him and then went right back to his food. “Make sure you drink some water when you’re done, okay?”
He poured himself another mug of coffee, added the heavy cream from the refrigerator, and sat in the living room on his favorite lounge chair, stitched and repaired, the leather recliner Maggie said smelled just like him. She said it was a nice smell, but it was his chair, and other than Tate occasionally taking the seat, nobody else in the house sat in it.
He propped his feet up on the old chest he’d restored, sipped his coffee, and looked out the window at the bridge and the road hidden behind his perimeter trees. The only sound in the house was of Tate’s claws tap-tap-tapping on the wooden floor. The log home creaked during times of rain as the timbers expanded, but today everything was quiet. He heard Emma snoring, and then he heard soft voices. It was Maggie’s custom to go in and join their daughter and be there for her when she woke up. She’d had nightmares when they’d first returned. Most of that was gone now. Life was normal. Life was perfect.
And he was living with the two people he would die to defend.
Maggie walked into the living room, her sheer nightgown alluringly showing off some of her attractive features, mostly the shape of her breasts, the hips that moved delicately from side to side, the small tummy she still carried after the pregnancy. Her hair was long and wild, just like Brady liked it.
“You want some coffee, sweetheart?” he asked her.
She plopped down in the easy chair across from him, blew the curly bangs from her forehead, and then tried to reposition the hair back in a bun at the back of her neck with one hand.
“Not just yet. Brady, I need to have a conversation with you.” Her clear eyes stared into his soul.
Brady’s heart suddenly got heavy. He felt as if it dropped all away from his chest down to his waist and below, stuck somewhere around his butt. If he stood up, he knew he’d feel it drop all the way to his ankles. She never talked this way to him unless it was something really important and something she anticipated he wasn’t going to like.
“Okay, just let’s have it out, Maggie. Are you unhappy here?” That was really the only thing he wanted to hear, because if she was unhappy, he’d fix whatever needed to be fixed. It had to be something like that.
“I’m going to be leaving next week. I’m going to be gone for about thirty days, maybe less. I’ve been called down to Baja, San Felipe. I’m working with the priest down there who needs my expertise. They’re trying to set up a task force of locals to help stop the trafficking.”
“But Maggie, we just—It’s only been a month since you got back. I almost lost you!” Brady couldn’t believe she was even considering going back.
“It’s non-negotiable, Brady. I love it here. I love my life with you and Emma. But I have unfinished business. And if I can make a difference, I want to do that.”
“But you make a difference here. You’re Emma’s mother.”
“And you’re Emma’s father. She’s safe here with you, Brady. And because she’s safe, it’s now given me the opportunity to finish the job I started. I couldn’t do that with my pregnancy, and after she was born, it was unthinkable. Too dangerous. I was held captive, a prisoner. But now, I don’t have that complication, because you’re here.”
Brady had never thought of himself as making Maggie’s life so easy that she could leave him.
“Complication? But that’s not fair. I’ve waited years and years. I never thought I’d see you again—”
“I too have waited years for this. But when I got pregnant with Emma, my trajectory changed. Temporarily.”
“Temporarily?”
“I just have to do it, Brady. Just like you had to go find me. It’s like that for me… all those women, those children being exploited, trafficked, and I can do something about it. I just need to try one more time, just give a little bit back, and then I’ll be return here, for good.”
She made her way over to him, a smile on her beautiful face, her gentle eyes showering him with that innocent look of female power that used to frighten the daylights out of him. She was so much stronger than he was. He didn’t know if he’d be able to let her go. And he was afraid of what portion of himself would come out if they talked about it.
He was speechless.
“I know you’re confused. Trust me, Brady. I will come back to you. I promise. Nothing could keep me away. I just want to finish what I started, and then I can let it go.”
