A Heartbeat Away (8 page)

I saw Daniel as I turned the final corner, just before the entrance to Homewood Farm. He was standing beneath the sign and something about his stance, head down and shoulders hunched, set off an alarm bell in my head. My breathing quickened and I broke into a run. When he dropped onto his knees on the road, I felt a blinding pain building in my heart, for the slumped shape that lay in the side of the lane was all too obvious. Fudge's poor old shaky legs had finally refused to support him.

His eyes were half-open and already glazing over, his pink tongue lolled from the side of his mouth and his busy tail sat motionless on the dusty lane. I think that was the one thing that really brought his death home to me—that tail, always waving like a flag behind him and now it would never wag again. On a day full of life and promise, he had finally breathed his last tired breath.

I crouched beside Daniel, wrapping my arm through his, and he looked at me with such emotion in his eyes that the pain in my heart spilled over.

“Oh, Luce,” he groaned.

We just sat there for a while in silence, close together, stroking Fudge's soft golden coat while the warmth seeped out of his body. Daniel was the first to move. He reached out to me, and I went into his arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh, Luce,” he cried again. “He was so full of himself today. He even brought me a stick to throw. It must just have been too much for his poor old heart.”

I buried my damp face in the warmth of Daniel's shoulder, and for several minutes we just sat like that, taking comfort from each other at the death of our old friend. Eventually Daniel's arms dropped away from me, and he bent over again to place his hand on Fudge's broad head.

“I know it was time,” he sighed. “And I couldn't have asked for him to go in a better way.”

“But there is no better way, is there,” I declared. “There's no such thing as a good day to die.”

“Isn't there?” A distant, cloudy expression came into his eyes.

“Well, I think that today was a good day to die for poor old Fudge,” he said.

I looked around at the blossoming world and thought that perhaps Daniel was right.

T
here were other dogs after Fudge. Daniel already had another golden Labrador pup named Buster and two young sheepdogs he was training, but nothing could ever fill the place in his heart that was kept for his old friend. His childhood and mine were entangled with memories of the big yellow dog and his death brought all those memories tumbling back, restoring some of the old closeness that Daniel and I seemed to have lost along the way.

Any spare minute I had was spent at Homewood again, lending a hand around the farm or helping Daniel break in the youngster, who was now four years old. As spring turned to summer, she became well enough trained for us to go for long leisurely rides together. Daniel had named the elegant gray filly Promise, because he said that she came along when
his
life was full of promise. He was full of crazy ideas like that, Daniel. I laughed and asked him how he arrived at that conclusion, but he just made his usual irritating gesture of tapping the side of his nose with his forefinger.

“You'll see,” he told me. “I just feel it—that's all.”

So Promise she became, and if the promise was to give pleasure, then she certainly did fulfill her name, for we rode out for hours that summer. I proudly mounted the big bay gelding, Timmy, while Daniel sidled and pranced along beside me on his high-spirited filly.

At one time he would have quite probably bragged to me about his latest girlfriend, but nowadays he kept quiet on that subject, and for some reason I never asked about them, either. I don't know why, though, since he was always trying to wind me up about my love life. However many times I told him that Mickey and I were finished, it never sank in, and if there was an evening that we didn't see each other, then he always greeted me next day with the same old line.

“Well, whose turn was it last night?” he would ask with a knowing expression on his face.

“A sick dog named Bruno, actually,” I chuckled one sunny morning in early July when I arrived at Homewood just as they were sitting down to breakfast.

I had been at the kennel all evening the night before, until, as midnight approached, the starved mongrel I was nursing started to wag his long thin tail and eagerly lap at the milk I had been offering him for hours.

Jane Whitfield, my boss, was so delighted that she told me to take the next day off. So here I was, raring to go. When I said as much to Daniel, however, he just laughed at my enthusiasm for work.

“Well, Luce,” he told me, “it's about time I had a day off, also. All the silage is in, and in another week we'll be busy with the haying, so I think we'll make the most of some free moments. Don't you agree, Mother?”

He turned to look at Mrs. Brown, who was cooking bacon in a pan on the stove, and she laughed.

“I suppose so,” she concurred. “I'll fix you a picnic.”

“But not until we've finished our bacon.” He grinned, wrinkling up his nose at the enticing smell. “And I'm sure Luce will manage one.”

Almost an hour later, we set off along the back lane that led to the sweeping fells. The air was fresh and clear. Way, way above us, a buzzard soared in lazy arcs and the summer sun felt warm against out faces as our horses' hooves echoed along the hard dirt track.

Promise walked sedately beside Timmy, ears pricked forward, anticipating the gallop that she knew would come as soon as we hit the soft, tussock grass of the fell but as yet prepared to wait. Daniel caught my eye once or twice and grinned. We had no need of words as we wallowed in the beauty of the day. When we reached the gate onto the fell, he jumped down, led his mount through and waited for me to follow.

“Well, do you want me to give you a headstart?” he asked, leaping nimbly back on Promise. I was so envious of the way he could vault into the saddle with such ease.

“You must be joking,” I retorted. “Timmy here can give your fancy filly a run for her money any day.”

“That's what you think,” he yelled, urging Promise on and in one bound they were away at full gallop.

In the time it took me to collect my wits, Promise was already way ahead of us, streaking up the fell. Timmy fought the bridle, losing precious moments by turning in a circle. I clamped my legs around him, and my heart soared when I felt the awesome power beneath me surging forward.

“Come on, boy,” I cried, leaning low over his neck. The sheer elation I felt as his stride lengthened took my breath away.

For almost a mile Daniel and I galloped side by side, the thunder of hooves in our ears and the soft sweet wind in our faces. But gradually, the steep slope took its toll, and despite Promise's gutsy determination, her youth and lack of fitness showed. Her pace slowed just a little and she fell back, half a stride, one stride, two strides. The ground leveled off and I reined in, elated as I stood in my stirrups and whooped while Daniel slowed Promise to a trot and rode toward me with a broad grin on his flushed face.

“Beat you,” I declared as he drew alongside.

Our eyes met. I recognized the challenge in his, and then he was gone, heels digging into the filly's sides as he urged her into canter again. He bounded toward a windblown gorse bush, where he reined her in.

“Ha,” he cried with a flourish of his hand. “This, I think, is the finishing post. Too bad, Lucy…last again.”

“You cheat,” I yelled. “We won that race fair and square.”

“But you didn't finish it, did you?” he insisted.

I leaned forward and ran my hand down Timmy's warm, damp shoulder. “Don't listen to him, boy,” I told the big bay gelding. “You and I know we won.”

Both horses were content to idle after that, along the lower slopes of the fell. We could see Appleton town below us, sprawling along both sides of the winding river. And beyond it lay the majestic sweep of the fell again, etched against a sky of clear blue. Timmy's sides heaved beneath me as we wandered over the coarse grass, and when I glanced across at Daniel, I could see the same warm contentment on his face that flooded my whole body.

“Let's go down to Brookbank for our picnic,” he suggested.

I nodded. Anywhere would have done for me, but there was something special about Brookbank. No one worked the farm anymore. The old stone cottage that stood at the end of the cobbled yard was leased to a couple from the city, and Mr. Brown rented all the land, so I had often been there with Daniel to tend to the stock that grazed the sweet pastures at the bottom of the fell.

It was a peaceful, private place. We approached it from the fell above, walking the horses down the slope and into the overgrown cobbled farmyard, where we took off their tack and turned them loose.

Daniel heaved his rucksack onto his shoulder. “I don't know what my mother has put in here, but it weighs a ton,” he moaned.

I tilted my head to one side and raised my eyebrows. “Would you like me to carry it for you?” I inquired sweetly. When he swung the rucksack at me, I dodged out of the way and ran ahead, laughing loudly.

 

There was a place halfway up the far meadow where the ground leveled off, close to where the stream tinkled over the rocks in a mini waterfall. A sprinkling of buttercups made a bright yellow pattern against the vivid green of the grass. I looked around, entranced, and as my eyes fell upon the sea of blue beneath the trees, their fragrance hit me.

“Bluebells,” I cried, breathing in their glorious scent.

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let's have our picnic here.”

He led me to a place beneath the trees, next to the silver stream, and I sank onto the ground among the bluebells.

“This—” I announced with a sweeping hand “—is magic.”

Daniel grinned and began emptying the rucksack onto the ground.

“And so is this!” he exclaimed. “Mother has done us proud today. She must have known it was special.”

Special? A prickle ran down my neck and my heart started to beat in my ears. Was today really special?

“Dig in,” he ordered.

I turned my attention to the feast that he had spread out on the ground. Thick, home-cooked ham sandwiches, sausage rolls fresh from the oven and a huge variety of mouthwatering tasty scones and pastries. Hunger pangs took over, and I closed my eyes and bit into soft homemade bread.

When we were finally done, I lay back against the bluebells with a groan, clutching my stomach.

Daniel laughed. “Your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” he told me.

I leaned across to deliver a punch to his arm, but he rolled away, and when my fist met fresh air, I collapsed in a fit of giggles, before relaxing on my back, staring up into the flawless blue sky. We lay like that for quite a while, Daniel and I, side by side in companionable silence, until he stretched out his hand in an arc that encompassed the whole area.

“Don't you think that this is the most beautiful place in the entire world?”

His voice held a passion that echoed my own feelings, and I rose onto my elbow and picked a buttercup to hide the emotion that clogged my throat.

“Roll over onto your back,” I urged, prodding him with my forefinger. He obliged with a broad grin, and I reached across to place the yellow flower beneath his chin.

“Now, let us see if you like butter.”

When a yellow light shone on the tanned skin below his jaw, I laughed.

“There…you do.”

For an instant our eyes met, and I had the strangest sense that I was drowning in those honey-brown depths. The scent of bluebells engulfed me. A roaring filled my ears, and, then suddenly, in one smooth movement, Daniel rolled me over onto my back and plucked a buttercup of his own.

“And do
you
like butter, Lucy McTavish?” he asked. When he placed the flower against my skin, time stood still.

His long lean body was suspended over mine, pinning me against the grass. Daniel…dear, comfortable, familiar Daniel was suddenly bringing out in me the strangest sensations.

“Do you, Lucy McTavish?” he asked again, his voice low and vibrant.

My eyes flickered toward his, a whisper of a sigh escaped my lips, and although a strange lethargy had crept into my limbs, I somehow felt as if all my nerve endings were on fire. He felt it, too—I could see it in his warm brown eyes. And when he lowered his face to mine it seemed to me the most natural thing in the world.

None of the kisses I had ever experienced could even have begun to prepare me for the feel of Daniel's lips on mine. My entire body floated on a tide of ecstasy that shut out everything but his soft, warm mouth, and I knew that this was what I had been waiting for the whole of my life.

“Oh, Lucy.” He pulled away to look into my eyes. “Why haven't we done this before?”

Holding his gaze, I gently touched his cheek, then I curled my fingers through the short thick hair at the base of his skull, overwhelmed by the longing to drown once again in the sensations flooding our bodies. And when his long tanned fingers crept across my tingling skin, I knew I could deny him nothing.

It was Daniel who drew away first.

“Should we be doing this, Luce?” he asked with a groan.

I lifted myself onto my elbow, just gazing at his larger-than-life features and lopsided grin. “Probably not,” I told him with a smile.

While we brushed down our clothes, strangely awkward with each other, my eyes were drawn back again and again to Daniel, and every time I looked at him, he was looking at me. It felt as though we were all alone in our own little world, and I knew that there could be no going back to how things had been before.

We didn't say much on the way home, just rode together, acutely aware of each other's presence, yet still too unsure to voice our feelings. I wanted to talk to him, wanted to make sure that what had happened simply wasn't a dream, but some deep-rooted desire to hang on to our childhood stopped me. How could we ever be merely friends again after today?

And then we
were
back to how things had been, and a host of mundane jobs were calling for Daniel's attention. By the time I had seen to the horses, he had already gone to start the milking. On my way home, I peered around the barn door to say goodbye. The milking machine thumped rhythmically, and the warm, heavy aroma of cows rose up to meet me.

“See you, Lucy,” called Mr. Brown.

“See you,” I said, while my gaze sought out Daniel.

His eyes burned through the gloom in the far corner of the barn and his teeth flashed white.

“See you tomorrow, Luce,” he murmured for my ears only, and I felt as though the world was opening up before me in a new, magical direction. For this was the start of the rest of my life.

 

Aunt V instantly knew what had happened. As soon as I walked through the door, my heart still singing, she looked into my eyes and she just knew.

“About time, too,” she remarked with a grin.

“Time for what?” I queried, feeling the telltale flush creeping up my neck.

“Time that you two stopped playing games and got on with your lives.”