As fall has progressed, Eric and I have become good friends. Mr. Coulter's health has deteriorated, and I've taken to visiting weekly when I go into town for groceries. I always bring food, but it's getting harder and harder to convince him to eat. He doesn't leave the house anymore, and Eric has called and driven out to the ranch for several heart-to-heart talks about next steps.
The doctors in the city are recommending hospice care, but Eric is reluctant to give in. He knows that once his dad goes, it's just a matter of time before he's gone forever. He wants to keep his last family member close as long as he can. I understand that, but I also know the hospice center has more equipment and staff to keep Mr. Coulter comfortable. I offer what support I can to the invalid and his grieving son.
When the shrill ring of my house phone jars me awake at three am, I instantly fear the worst.
"Hello?" I croak out, my voice half asleep
"Tris?" asks Eric in a choked voice.
"Eric? Are you okay? Is your dad okay? What's going on?"
There's silence for a brief moment, and I feel my heart in my throat, threatening to choke me.
"Tris," Eric says again, little more than a whisper. "I'm really sorry I woke you. Dad isn't doing well, and he's been asking for you."
"For me?" I ask.
"Yes," he says. "He's quite insistent. Do you mind? I'm sorry. I just don't know what else to do. He wants to talk to you."
"I'm on my way, Eric," I say, already throwing on yoga pants, a tee, and a sweatshirt.
"Thank you so much, Tris," says Eric, and I swear I hear tears in his voice.
I send a quick text to Uriah, Matthew, and Al, letting them know where I've gone and asking one of them to feed the dogs in the morning. I don't want them to worry if they hear me drive out or when I don't appear in the barn bright and early. I throw on some shoes, grab my purse, and jog out to my truck. I make quick work of the drive, and Eric meets me at the door of his father's house.
"I'm sorry I woke you," Eric repeats. "Thank you for coming."
I impulsively pull Eric into a hug, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath as he draws me close.
"He's back here," he says quietly, indicating the hallway to the bedrooms.
I follow Eric to his father's bedside, and I'm surprised how much the elder Coulter has deteriorated in the four days since I last saw him.
"There you are, Beautiful," says Mr. Coulter, always the charmer. "I've been waiting for you."
Eric pulls up a chair, and I sit down beside the dying man. I reach for his hand and feel how bony it is as he gives mine a weak squeeze.
"Eric, go make Mrs. Eaton some coffee," he says.
When Eric obediently leaves for the kitchen, the elder Coulter turns his attention to me.
"I don't have much time left," he tells me. I think about arguing, but nod instead. What good will it do to argue? We both know what's coming, so it's better not to waste time making false promises.
"I'm sorry I had Eric wake you," he says sheepishly, and I wave off the apology. If he thinks this is important, I won't complain about a few hours of lost sleep. "I know you've been there for Eric since he came home. I see him get all mopey and depressed then come back from your ranch looking strong and relieved. And I hear you on the phone at night, too, when he thinks I'm asleep. You understand grief and loss better than anyone your age, and I can't thank you enough for helping him through this time."
The short speech takes a while as Mr. Coulter has to stop between sentences and catch his breath. Seeing my friend like this is heartbreaking, and I find myself fighting tears as I stroke the old man's hand and let him talk.
"I know I can count on you to help my boy through this when I'm gone," he continues. "But I want you to know something else. I see the way the two of you look at each other. The way the boy's eyes light up when you come to visit… The way you look at him and blush… I get it. I was young once, and I was head over heels for my Rosie. But I'm afraid that after everything you've been through, you'll feel guilty falling in love again. Tobias is gone, Tris, and you have a lot of life in front of you. It's not disloyal to fall in love again. It doesn't mean you love Tobias any less. Some people find love more than once in life, and it doesn't mean either love was less. It just means you've been doubly blessed."
We sit quietly for a few minutes until Eric taps on the doorframe. He has a cup of coffee in each hand.
"Can I come in?" he asks quietly.
"Of course," I say softly.
Eric enters the room and hands me a coffee. He brings another chair up to the bed and sits down. We sip our coffee as Mr. Coulter drifts in and out of consciousness.
"Did you have a nice talk?" Eric asks quietly in my ear.
I nod. "He's worried about leaving you," I say. Eric's eyes are soft as he looks at his sleeping father.
"And he wants you to take care of me?" he asks.
"He wants us to take care of each other," I reply, placing one of my hands on top of his.
Eric smiles softly at his father, then at me, and puts his arm around my shoulders. We sit in companionable silence, drawing strength from one another.
As the sun is just starting to peek above the horizon, Mr. Coulter opens his eyes and makes eye contact with his son.
"Eric," he says, his weak voice barely a whisper.
"Yeah, Dad," Eric replies, reaching for his father's frail hand.
The elder Coulter nods slightly and closes his eyes again. We sit silently as he takes several slow, shallow breaths, then relaxes, still.
Eric sucks in a sharp breath and reaches for my hands.
"Is he?" he asks in a frightened whisper. "Will you check?"
I reach for the older man's wrist and find no pulse. I try his neck, but it's the same. Turning to face Eric, I shake my head. "He's gone," I say gently.
Eric reaches out with both arms and literally drags me into his lap. I put my arms around him as he drops his head onto my shoulder and sobs like a lost child. I hold him until he's cried out, running my fingers through his soft, unstyled hair and trying to offer comfort even as I too cry for my loss.
When Eric regains control, I offer to call the sheriff and the funeral home. Eric can only nod, so I leave him with his dad and step out to the living room to make the calls.
The sheriff and coroner arrive and confirm Mr. Coulter's death, and the volunteer ambulance team takes his body to the funeral home. Once his father is gone, I convince Eric to move out to the living room. I bring him water and tissues, and call Uriah. He comes to the house after the ranch's morning chores are done, and I leave Eric in his care as I move about the house. I clean up the bathroom and close the doors to the bedrooms. I know there will be people stopping by as soon as word gets out around town, and I want the house to be ready. I clean out the fridge and make room for the food I know they'll be bringing. I wash up the dishes and make a fresh pot of coffee.
When I walk back into the living room with cups of coffee for the men, Eric breathes my name and reaches for me. I sit beside him and he pulls me close. Uriah leaves the room to give us a minute.
"Where did you go?" Eric asks in a broken voice.
"I was cleaning up the house," I tell him. "You'll be getting visitors soon enough, and they'll be coming by all day."
"I thought you left," he says.
I remember the zombie feeling of grief. People came and went and I had no idea what was going on.
"I won't leave without telling you," I assure him.
"Don't leave," he says.
"Okay," I whisper.
The doorbell rings and I squeeze Eric's hand before getting up to answer it. The minister and his wife are the first to arrive, and the rest of the day is one visitor after another. Neighbors and church ladies bring food. The undertaker sends his son to pick up the clothes Eric wants his father buried in. Zeke and Shauna come by. Her belly is starting to show, which makes me smile. Uriah leaves in time for the evening chores.
Hour after hour, visitor after visitor, I stay with Eric. I answer the door countless times and make room in the refrigerator and then the freezer as people bring food. I brew enough coffee to fill a swimming pool. The pastor calls to say that people have been asking what they can bring us, and I suggest disposable dishware, bottled water, and more coffee. Not ten minutes later the Styrofoam plates and cups start arriving. I set out platters of donated baked goods, pour cups of coffee, and take out bags of trash.
The sun goes down, and the visitors trail off. I convince Eric to eat something and take a shower. While he's in the bathroom I call Marlene and ask her to bring me some clean clothes when she comes into town for work in the morning. I don't want to leave Eric just in case he needs me. The first nights are rough, and the last thing I want is for him to feel alone right now.
Eric is glad for my offer to stay, and thanks me profusely for helping him through the day. He seems refreshed by the shower, and relieved that the visitors are gone. We sit on the couch, and Eric begins telling story after story about his dad. I let him talk, but the lost night of sleep and the emotional day soon have me nodding off.
I wake with a start, stiff and uncomfortable. It takes a minute to get my bearings, and I realize that I'm on the Coulter's couch, curled into Eric's side. He's asleep with his head flopped on the back of the couch and an arm around my shoulders. I tiptoe to the restroom and then to Eric's bedroom where I grab two pillows and two blankets. I bring them back to the living room and attempt to get a sleeping Eric into a more comfortable position on the couch. Moving him is like moving a horse, but I manage to improve his situation, then take the other pillow and blanket to the smaller loveseat.
.
xxxx
.
Eric seems more like himself this morning, and once Marlene brings my toiletries and some clean clothes, I feel better as well. We visit the funeral home, and Eric makes the arrangements for his father's service. We agree that it will be fine for me to go home tonight. I miss the ranch, and we both need a good night's sleep. I remind Eric that he can call me at any hour if he needs something, and I head home after dinner.
As I lay in my bed, I play over the last conversation I had with Mr. Coulter. There's no doubt that my heart and my eyes are attracted to Eric. He's beyond handsome with his muscular tattooed arms, sparkling grey eyes, and his easy smile. Our friendship is effortless, too. I can admit to myself that I often find myself imagining what his lips taste like.
But Mr. Coulter was wrong about one thing - it's not feelings of disloyalty to Tobias that hold me back. I've made peace with his passing and the fact that I have a long life ahead of me. I'd like to find someone to share it with. What's holding me back is the fear that I'll get my hopes up and Eric will leave.
With his dad gone, there's nothing holding Eric here. He has his education completed, and he'll need to start a career soon. I doubt our little county could support a second veterinary office. The family farm is long gone, and the house in town is just a rental. As much as I would love to have a vet onsite, I don't think I could match the kind of income Eric could generate in private practice. Tears roll down my cheeks and wet my pillow as I succumb to my exhaustion.
.
xxxx
.
I haven't been to a funeral in years, so I'm nervous as I riffle through my closet for something appropriate to wear. I find a conservative dark grey dress and slip it on. Matthew and Al will stay at the ranch, but Marlene and Uriah plan to attend the funeral with me.
I hear a knock on my back door and hurry down to the kitchen. Uriah is standing there, hat in hand, looking like he's about to choke to death thanks to the tie he's wearing.
"Well, you look right nice, Mrs. Eaton," he says in an exaggerated cowboy voice.
"Why thank you, Mr. Pedrad," I say in the same tone. "You don't look too bad yourself. I don't think I've seen you in a tie since your wedding."
"I know why, too," he says, tugging on his collar. "I feel like I'm choking in this getup."
I laugh and take his offered arm. We walk out to his truck, where Marlene is waiting, and climb in. On the way to the church we discuss ranch business in subdued tones.
When we walk into the church, Uriah removes his hat respectfully. We came early, so there aren't many people here yet. I quickly spot Eric near the front of the sanctuary. He looks handsome in his black slacks, dark grey button-down with rolled sleeves, and black vest. My heart flips at the sight of him. I approach timidly, but he pulls me firmly into a hug. I relax in his arms and inhale his comforting masculine scent.
"I'm glad you're here," he says in a voice full of relief. "Will you sit with me during the service?"
"Of course," I say.
I visit with friends and neighbors until the service starts, then sit with Eric in the front row. The pallbearers bring in Mr. Coulter's casket, and Eric reaches out to grab my hand. The minister leads a few hymns, reads the scriptures, and gives a eulogy for Mr. Coulter. Eric sits stoically beside me through the entire service, dry-eyed. The only indication of his grief is the slight shaking of the hand holding mine.
When the service concludes, the pallbearers move the casket down the center aisle of the church. The minister follows, and Eric and I stand to follow as well. We walk out of the church building to the graveyard next to it. A tent is set up over the freshly dug grave, and the pallbearers and funeral home staff set the casket in place. Eric puts a hand on my lower back and guides me to the folding chairs at the graveside. I take the seat indicated, and Eric sits beside me again, taking my small hand back in his large one.
The minister says all the right words, and the church people go back inside for the standard funeral luncheon. Eric doesn't move. The funeral director looks at him inquiringly, and Eric nods. The workers lower the casket into the grave, and the funeral director looks to Eric again. He still sits, stoic, but nods. The workers shovel dirt back into the hole. Through it all, Eric doesn't move, so neither do I.
When the hole is filled, the workers take their equipment and leave us alone. Eric stands and offers me a hand. I take it and stand with him. He moves toward the headstones nearest the fresh grave. Closest to the grave, the headstone bears the names of Eric's mom and dad. His father's side had a birth date, but the death date still needed to be added. His mother's side shows both her birth and death dates. The headstone on the other side of Eric's mother bears his sister's name.
"Hey Mom. Hey Emma," Eric says, breaking the silence. "This is Tris. I don't think you ever met her. Dad can tell you all about her. She's been taking care of us lately, especially me. I don't know what I would do without her. I told Dad to hug you both for me, so you make sure he does that."
Eric falls silent again, and I stand beside him, a hand on his back offering silent support. His shoulders start to shake, and he drops to his knees. I move my hands to his shoulders, standing as close as I can.
"They're… all… gone…" he chokes out. Fresh tears flow down my cheeks as I watch my friend process his loss.
I step to the front of Eric and pull his head and shoulders into me. Even kneeling he still comes nearly to my shoulder. His sobs eventually quiet, and he wipes his eyes as he stands to his feet.
"Where is Tobias' grave?" he asks quietly.
"On the ranch," I tell him. "There's an old settlers graveyard on the property, and I had him buried there. I thought about taking him back to our hometown to be buried near his mother and my parents, but I knew I was staying here, and I wanted to keep him near me."
Eric nods. "Will you take me out there some time and show me?"
"Sure," I say. "I ride out there sometimes to visit. His birthday is in a few weeks, so if the weather cooperates I plan on going out. If you're still around you can come with."
"Still around?" Eric asks. "Where else would I be?"
"I don't know," I admit, dropping my gaze. "I just figured that once you get everything settled you'll be moving on."
Eric shakes his head, then takes my hand again and walks back toward the church. "Can I take you home?" he asks.
I agree, and text Uri and Mar to let them know. Eric is silent as he leads me to his truck. He opens the door for me and helps me up. Mr. Coulter was right, this truck is huge, and really hard to get in and out of.
.
xxxx
.
We pull out of the church parking lot and out of the city limits before Eric speaks.
"Tris," he says, "I don't know what my future looks like. I have to settle everything with my dad's estate and figure out what to do with myself. But I don't want to leave. This is my home. I'll find a little place to live and get work. I know the vet here is busy, but I don't know if there's enough business for two offices. I was thinking about offering to buy in as a partner. Dr. Jones could stick more to the office, and I could work with the large animals out on the farms and ranches."
It sounds good in theory, but I know what it's like to make plans when you're grieving. You feel desperate, and clutch at anything to hold on to what feels normal. As his new reality sets in and Eric realizes that there's nothing keeping him here, he'll be ready to move on, figuratively and literally.
"Tris?" Eric interrupts my train of thought. "You're awful quiet over there."
"I'm fine," I insist, but I don't sound convincing, even to myself.
We're quiet for another minute before Eric asks, "Do you want me to leave?"
I feel my eyes well up again, and I can't answer around the lump in my throat, so I just shake my head.
"Then what's the problem?" Eric asks.
I shake my head again, still unable to speak. A rogue tear dribbles down my cheek, and Eric reaches out to wipe it away with his thumb.
We turn onto the long gravel driveway at Dauntless. Hershey and Cocoa sound their "friend" bark, and I smile at my babies. Eric parks by the farmhouse, and I before I can work my way down from his monster of a truck, he's at my side, lifting me down.
"This truck is a bit tall for someone in a skirt and dress shoes, isn't it?" he asks, rubbing his neck and averting his gaze.
We walk to the farmhouse, and Eric settles himself in the living room as I go upstairs to change. I dig out a pair of jeans and a shirt, then allow myself a minute to give in to my emotions. I must lose track of time, because the next thing I know, Eric is standing in the doorway of my bedroom.
"Tris, please talk to me," he pleads. "What did I do?"
I shake my head, and Eric sighs as he sits on the edge of my bed. He places a hand gently on my back, and starts moving it in soothing circles. We stay like that for a while until I gather my thoughts and find my voice.
"I'm scared," I say, my voice a halting whisper. Eric moves closer to me and wraps his arm around my back, resting his hand on the side of my waist. I resist the urge to lean into his warmth or rest my head on his shoulder.
"It's just… Life hasn't been terribly kind to me. No, that's not right. I have a lot to be thankful for. I have my ranch, my friends and animals, and I have my health. The problem is…" I trail off as the tears start rolling down my cheeks. I reach for a tissue, and Eric pulls me even closer.
"I care about you, Eric," I whisper. "I care about you, and it scares me."
Eric places a gentle kiss on my temple. "I don't see the problem," he says softly, his deep voice making me shiver. "Why does that scare you?"
I shake my head again. "You're going to leave. You don't think so now, but you will. Everyone does." My last words are barely a whisper, but I know he heard because he pulls me even closer.
"Is this about your parents? Tobias?" he asks.
I nod. "My employees, my friends, your dad. People move on. Some die, some find better things to do with their lives. I don't blame them. I'm happy here, but there isn't a lot of opportunity in a place this small. So people move on. You will too."
"What about Uriah and Marlene? Zeke and Shauna? Hanna? The friends who were there for you during your darkest days? Not everyone leaves, Tris. I want to be one of the ones who stay. I'm going to be. You can't get rid of me. Especially now that I've had that cake," he says, trying to lighten my mood.
I know Eric is sincere. I know he thinks he won't leave, but I also know that when the fog of grief lifts and he really thinks about his future, he'll realize that he just can't stay here. But I can't tell him that. It's not worth fighting about, and he won't believe me anyway. So I latch on to his joke as our escape from this conversation.
"I warned you that stuff was powerful," I say, faking a smile as I dry my tears.
"Dad said you compared it to feeding barn cats," Eric laughs. "You're stuck with me now."
I'm suddenly struck by the realization that I just had an emotional breakdown at a guy who buried his father this morning, and I gasp in horror.
"Tris?" he asks, instantly concerned.
"Oh Eric," I say, afraid to meet his gaze. "I'm so sorry. Here we are on the day of your father's funeral, and I'm dragging you through my emotional baggage. That's so thoughtless of me. I should be comforting you today, not the other way around. I don't know what came over me."
Eric interrupts my babbling. "Tris," he says tenderly, "we're both tired and sad, and the funeral and everything has dragged up some painful reminders. For both of us. You don't have to hide your feelings from me. In fact, comforting you makes me feel less helpless."
"Really?" I ask, peeking shyly at the big man, trying to judge his sincerity.
"Really," he assures me.
I flop backward, laying my body across the bed with my legs hanging off the side. Eric follows me and we both sigh as we relax.
"I guess I've always been a caregiver," Eric says timidly, staring at the ceiling. "I was younger than Emma, but I always felt like her protector. That's how Dad was with mom and us kids. That's why I wanted to be a vet. I love being able to work with animals and take care of them. The owners, too. People are really attached to their animals. You know that first-hand. If I can give them more healthy years with their four-legged family members, that's just the best feeling ever."
I turn on to my side, facing Eric and tucking my legs up onto the top of the bed. I resist the urge to brush his blonde hair away from his face and stroke his lightly stubbled cheek. As if sensing my thoughts, Eric turns to face me, drawing his long legs up on to the bed, and gently takes my hand.
"How about you, Tris, how did you get interested in horses?"
I tell him about my summer job as a teenager and how I fell in love with horses while helping on a local farm. I talk about Dauntless, and how Tobias and I found the property, how we bought Lightning and Flash that first summer, and how happy it made me to finally own a horse of my own and be able to ride around my ranch. We talk and talk, soft memories shared in soft tones. Eventually we lapse into comfortable silence, then drift off to sleep.
.
xxxx
.
"Tris!?"
Someone yelling my name from downstairs jolts me awake. I jolt upright, or try to, and realize that I'm trapped in Eric's strong arms. Apparently we fell asleep, and at some point ended up curled into each other. I blush deeply when I realize our position, and the fact that Uriah is in the house looking for me.
"Eric," I hiss, nudging him. He grumbles and pulls me closer to his chest.
"Eric!" I repeat, louder. His stunning grey eyes flicker open, still cloudy with sleep.
Realizing our position, Eric releases me from his arms, and we avoid eye contact as we pull apart and scramble to our feet.
"I'm up here, Uri," I call as I head toward the stairs.
I see Uriah walking toward the stairway as I'm descending. Eric is just a step behind me, and I know my flushed cheeks and tousled hair give away that I just woke up. Uriah stops dead in his tracks, and his eyebrows shoot up so high they almost disappear into his hairline. The look on his face would be hysterical if I wasn't so embarrassed.
"I, uh… I'm, um, sorry I interrupted," says Uri, dropping his gaze.
"Yeah, um, we were just talking and we both fell asleep," I say. "Did you need something?"
"Yeah, Matthew and Al are off this afternoon and evening. I thought you were helping with the evening chores, but you didn't show up in the barn. I saw your truck and Eric's both here, but no one answered the door. I started to get worried."
"Sorry, Uri," I say, hanging my head like a scolded child. "Let me put my boots on and grab a jacket."
"Can I help?" asks Eric, still standing behind me on the stairs.
"You're not exactly dressed to be in the barn," I remind him.
Eric shrugs, and starts working the buttons on his vest and shirt. "I have an undershirt on, and I'm sure one of the guys has a barn jacket that will fit."
"What about your shoes?" I ask.
"They'll clean," he says with a shrug.
We head out to the barn, where Eric throws Al's barn jacket over his undershirt. We make our way down the rows, checking on the horses and giving them feed and water. I stop to give Lightening a carrot and some love when I overhear Eric and Uriah discussing the ranch as they move down the row.
"How many head do you have right now?" Eric asks.
"Twenty-two of our own, plus 6 boarding while their owner is on vacation. It's slow right now, but we have some new horses arriving Monday to start training. In the spring when the foals are born and we start bringing in mares to visit our studs, things get busy. We have had up to fifty horses on the property in the spring, but we only have stalls for 46, so we don't usually let it get that full."
"That's quite the operation," Eric compliments.
"The old barn houses Lightening and Flash, plus a feed room and the tack room. Right now we also have four mares in here. All are expecting in the spring, so we just find it easier to keep them all together. The east pole barn has the rest of our permanent residents, with four open stalls right now since the pregnant ladies have moved to the barn. The west pole barn is housing our guests."
"Twenty stalls is a lot for one pole barn," Eric comments.
"They're big barns," Uriah confirms. "And other than a small feed storage room and a washing area, it's just stalls, so we can fit in quite a few. There's another building out behind there for storing the trailer and the feed. As you can imagine, we go through a lot of feed around here."
"And make a lot of manure," Eric quips.
Uriah laughs. "They sure do. That's why Tris set up the local manure share program."
"Manure share?" asks Eric, sounding like a city boy.
"You grew up on a farm!" says Uriah, shocked. "Manure sharing is a program where local farmers get free fertilizer by picking it up at a local ranch. We use it here in our own garden, and on the wheat fields we lease to Isaiah Clemens, and the rest is picked up by local farmers. It's a win-win."
"It sounds like you're running at full-capacity here, at least in the summer," comments Eric.
"We are," I interrupt, joining the conversation. "In a dream world we would add another pole barn with more stalls and an indoor pen for training year-round. But it takes money to make money, and more horses would necessitate more staff. More staff would need another bunkhouse or two, and it just snowballs from there. We were honestly overwhelmed this spring. I need to add another hand as it is."
"And a vet wouldn't hurt either," says Uriah, nudging Eric with his shoulder.
I roll my eyes. "Ignore him. What he really wants is for his veterinary assistant wife to work on the ranch, too, so she doesn't have to drive in to town every day. I'd love to have an in-house vet on the ranch, and Marlene, but the money tree I planted out behind the barn isn't producing yet."
The men chuckle, and we finish the chores together.
Uriah goes home for dinner with Marlene, and I invite Eric to stay and eat with me. He accepts, and we throw together a simple dinner of goulash, frozen sweet corn, and garlic bread. It's nothing special, but it's warm and comforting. We decide to eat in the living room and watch a movie.
When the movie ends, Eric helps me with the dinner dishes, and we loiter on the porch with the dogs long after the sun goes down. Eric seems reluctant to leave.
Eventually, he sighs and says, "I guess I should be going. Thank you for being there today, Tris. Thank you for dinner, and for the nap, too." We both blush, and he rubs his neck nervously. "Would it be okay if I came back tomorrow? I just don't want to sit around the house all day."
"You're welcome here any time," I remind him, patting his arm.
"Will you put me to work? Keep me busy?"
"If you dress for it," I promise as he takes his leave.
