Page 63 of Silent Threat
“Why are we planting two of everything?” Dale, a recovering burn victim and former marine, shouted over. “OCD?”
At the moment, the brand-new orchard consisted of two cherry trees, two apples, two pears, two plums, two sour cherries, and two peaches.
“I’m experimenting with what’ll grow well in this soil,” Annie said. “We’ll plant more of whatever produces well.”
The property had plenty of space, and if they grew more fruit than the cafeteria needed, they could always donate the rest to the Broslin food pantry.
“Why not plant one of each, then?” Dale wiped his hands on his jeans. “If you’re not sure they’ll all make it.”
“Most fruit trees need two of a kind for cross-pollination,” Kyle, a farm boy from Iowa, told him.
“They don’t look too good.” Dale had doubt written all over his city-boy face.
“They’re going dormant for the winter.” Kyle rolled his eyes.
And Annie added, “Best time to plant them.”
The trees wouldn’t bear fruit for years. None of the men who planted today would be here for the harvest. They wouldn’t benefit. They were planting for others.
They talked about that as they worked on the orchard. Annie considered the concept of continuity important. She wanted them to viscerally understand that there was a future—a future that could be bettered by simply working on things today.
She hoped the message reached Dale, specifically.
Most of her patients lived in the past—had trouble letting go of the past, of things that had happened to them, things they had done. She had to coax most of them to live more in the present. Not Dale. Dale lived too much in the present. If something didn’t work right now, it was never going to work. If he had trouble sleeping right now, he was never going to sleep again. She’d done several visualization exercises with him in the past couple of weeks about what his ideal future would look like. He had a lot of trouble with that.
In his mind, the way things were—especially bad things—was the way they were always going to be.
Annie wished Trevor had been able to attend the tree planting, but Trev had PT. The planting would have probably been too strenuous for him anyway. Titanium screws held his neck together.
The guys did a great job with the task, the trees popping into the ground one after the other. Annie was pleased.
She was also far too aware of Cole in a way she wasn’t aware of the others. She wanted to think the reason was because he was bigger than everyone else. And, also, she had to be aware of him to make sure she turned toward him when she spoke, so he could read her lips. Except, if she was honest with herself, her awareness of him went beyond that.
She had to admit that she was aware of him as a man. When he passed by with a bucket of water and brushed her arm, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
She was aware of his shifting muscles as she watched him lift a hundred-pound root ball with one hand. Every time he came within ten feet, her entire body focused on him.
She had to get over her stupid and extremely inappropriate attraction before he noticed. And before others noticed. None of the men were fools. If anyone figured out how stupid she was being, her credibility with her patients would be ruined. Not to mention her continued job prospects at Hope Hill.
“I’ll take that.” Cole popped up at her elbow as she reached for the cooler the cafeteria had packed for them.
She’d wanted to eat at least a snack outside with the group under the sky, in the orchard they were planting—another connection.
Cole reached around her and took the cooler, his arm brushing her shoulder. Once again, lightning sliced through her. Before she could step back, he was gone, taking the cooler to the picnic table in the center of the future orchard and dropping it in the middle.
Dale opened the top. “Egg-salad sandwiches.” He picked one along with a bottle of water, then looked back in. “Got some tuna too.”
The guys gathered around and sat. Annie rubbed her arm where her skin tingled, then went to join them.
She had no plans to sneak in any therapy. A shared meal, community, nature, and good work all contributed healing power.
The picnic table could easily sit eight average people, but some of the guys were pretty big, especially Cole and Dale. Their warrior bodies took up a lot of space. Only when she stood next to them did Annie notice that there wasn’t enough room for her at the table.
Cole sat on one end. As Annie prepared to sit on an overturned bucket, Cole leaned into the row of massive soldiers next to him and pushed them over. He barely exerted himself, but the row moved, until Dale fell off on the other end.
“Make room for the lady,” Cole mumbled under his breath as the others laughed, Dale taking his dethronement in stride and claiming the bucket.
Nothing for Annie to do then but sit next to Cole. She made sure to keep an inch or two between them as she dropped her hands onto her lap. She didn’t want to reach over Cole for a sandwich and accidentally press a breast against his arm. She wasn’t that hungry anyway.
