Page 13 of Bravo

“I did.”

“Oh, she’s adorable,” my mother interjects. “Beautiful inside and out. And great with the horses. Even your nightmarish one.” She points at me.

Tucker barks out a laugh. “That’s right, you’ll have to fight her to get Rev back,” he tells me.

“Rev likes her?” I ask, honestly surprised. Since we rescued him from an incredibly abusive owner, it took me nearly two years to earn Rev’s trust. The Appaloosa didn’t give it easily, buthe’s become my favorite horse on the ranch. Loyal, gentle, and bombproof. For me, at least. No one else can get close to him…usually.

“He does. Probably prefers her,” Dylan replies. "I bet she smells better."

“Sammy is great,” Lani agrees.

Tucker opens his mouth to respond, but the front door opens, and I hear the bootsteps of Elliot and Riley.Thank you, God, for the distraction.

The last of my brothers come around the corner, looking absolutely exhausted, but the moment they see me, their expressions turn joyful. Relaxed.

Elliot’s baseball cap is on backward, his jeans dirty, his white shirt stained with dirt from the fence repair. He steps forward and offers me a handshake in lieu of a hug. “I’ll hug you later,” he replies, gesturing to his clothes.

“Appreciate that.” I laugh.

“Glad you lived,” Riley says with a lopsided grin, his own clothes smeared with grime.

“Bianca and Silas had their baby,” Mom announces.

“Seriously?” Riley asks. “Awesome.”

“That’s great,” Elliot adds.

“Bianca sent me pictures,” Lani says. “He’s so precious.”

“He really is,” Mom agrees. “Dinner will be ready in five.”

“I’ll go wash my hands then,” Elliot says before heading down the hall.

“Same.” Riley follows, disappearing down the hall toward the bathroom all six of us shared growing up. Even as quaint as the three-bedroom farmhouse is, it never felt crowded. Not once in the entire time I was growing up.

Jesus is the cornerstone of my life. Without Him, I could not stand. But God also blessed me with a foundation of family that is simply unmatched. And, as I help my mother carry food to ourtable and take my seat in the same chair I once occupied as a child, I am beyond grateful that He has brought me through the hellish things I’ve faced so that I may sit here and share another meal with the most important people in my life.

As they so often do these days, my thoughts turn dark —haunted by the things I witnessed when I’d been deployed as well as the experiences I’ve had since I first started Hunt Brothers Search & Rescue.

The people we rescued.

And above all, the ones we couldn’t.

It’s so easy to get dragged down into the darkness when it’s constantly shackled around your ankles though, so I do what I can to force my thoughts elsewhere, opting instead to think back to that moment I’d shared with Sammy on the sidewalk outside the barber.

Gorgeous blue eyes. Sun-kissed honey hair. Stunning smile. And yet, there was something else about her too…something that might as well be a beacon for the tattered remnants of a soul worn down by the darkness of the world.

“You did good, son,”my father says as he gets up to refill his glass of water.

It’s silly that, even now, at creeping up on forty years old, hearing my father say those words still has the same effect as it did back when I was a child seeking his approval. Thankfully, unlike so many other kids, I never had to search far.

“I can’t get the image of them hunkered down in the dark out of my head,” I admit. “It’s burned into my soul.” The debrief went well with me filling in on the mission details, what happened, who was apprehended, and how many were saved.Even though our father isn’t an active part of the rescue portion of our business, he typically sits in during every meeting and mission assignment, offering insight and support where needed.

My brothers, who are all sitting around the dining room table, nod in agreement. The dishes are done, the kitchen dark, and Mom has turned in for the night since she’s helping organize the church bake sale first thing tomorrow morning.

“Pray for them,” my father says as he sits back down. “It’s all you can do now. You’ve already given them back the lives stolen from them.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s enough.” Crossing my arms, I lean back in the chair. “Every day, there’s a new alert. A new missing person. These kids are innocent. Why them? Why do they have to suffer?”

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