Signs of Life

By Linnhe McCarron McCarron

    After devastating personal tragedy, heartbreak, and bitter betrayal tear her world to shreds, Olympic event rider, Asha Hamilton, falls apart mere days before the start of the Atlanta games.

    Emotionally shattered, ostracized, and alone, she retreats to rural Vermont and slowly begins rebuildi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leslie Helm, Author
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781733044332

Book preview

Prologue

July 18, 1996

Nick should have been back by now. Uneasy, Alix glanced out the window. The rain had abated but the low-hanging clouds promised the respite would only be temporary. Shoving her feet into a pair of rubber gardening shoes and pulling a slicker off a hook in the cottage's mudroom, she stepped outside and flipped the hood up. The layers of pine needles muffled her footsteps. She called out as she approached the clearing. Nick!

Not getting a reply, she called again, her voice tentative, Nick?

Alix's shrieks filled the air. One hand flew to her mouth, stifling her screams; the other went instinctively, protectively, to her belly. There, drenched with rain and blood, lay Nick's mangled body. Alix crumpled to the muddied ground, her guttural cries unheard in the secluded Maine woods.

When the call came some time later, Anson Hamilton could hardly understand the jumble of words spilling from his daughter's mouth. All he could manage to understand was there'd been a devastating accident and Nick was, unexplainably, dead.

Paul would know what to do. Anson placed an urgent call to the New York hospital where his son-in-law was operating and eventually reached him. There's been a terrible accident at the cottage, he told Paul curtly. You're needed there.

There was no time for questions. Paul glanced down at his surgical scrubs, spattered with his own patient's blood. I’m on my way.

Two hours later, the chartered twin-engine Cessna landed at the municipal airport in Rockland. Minutes later, Paul's rental car sped down the two-lane road toward the Hamilton family cottage.

Back in Greenwich, Connecticut, Anson Hamilton held an etched-crystal glass of scotch. He'd taken only a few sips and the ice had long since melted. His head rested against the back of his favorite wingback chair, and his eyes were closed. He steeled himself, waiting to hear from Paul. In the meantime, he had to join his wife upstairs and pack a small suitcase for their flight to Atlanta in a few hours. He was filled with dread for the days ahead, and tomorrow would come all too soon.

Tomorrow, he would be the one to tell Asha, Alix's twin, her husband was dead, five days before she was due to compete in the XXIII Olympiad.

Chapter One

July 19, 1996 was, without question, the worst day of Asha Hamilton's life. That day, she learned how bitterly she'd been betrayed by the person she loved most. Her heart had broken that day, shattered like her dreams of Olympic gold. Five days before the start of the Summer Games in Atlanta, the Three-Day Eventing team, favorites for a gold in their home country, was counting on her―and her world turned upside down.

Each subsequent year, Asha scheduled appointments, took on commitments, planned activities, accepted invitations for July 19th―anything to keep herself occupied every waking moment. Anything to keep herself from replaying that awful day in her mind, over and over. And this July 19th was no different.

Asha awakened with a familiar dull pressure behind her eyes. She heard the beat of her heart, felt her throbbing pulse in the silent, empty room. No sliver of light peeked from beneath the hem of the heavy curtains. She lay still for a moment, too weary to push her feet into her slippers or belt her bathrobe over her nightgown, too weary and too heartsick to face the day.

A call from her hay supplier the evening before informed her rain was expected late in the afternoon.

I've got two fields down, he told her. There was no rain in the forecast when I cut. I tedded it yesterday and I'll start baling tomorrow at first light. I'll round up as many helpers as I can. Luckily, tomorrow's Saturday. I'll make some calls. With enough bodies, we should be able to get it all into your barn before the rain starts.

As expected, the overcast sky had nothing on Asha's leaden spirits, and she found the dense air as oppressive as her mood. Even without sunshine, the air in the barn felt stifling.

Why can't grass ripen in October? a woman's voice called from below.

Up in the hayloft, Asha pushed her hair back with a sweaty forearm. Bits of hay clung to her moist skin. The pieces that had worked their way inside her blue chambray shirt began to itch.

Hay day was always busy and there were people everywhere Asha looked. She felt lonelier today than she had on any July 19th since 1996. Stacking hay, one bale at a time, was a repetitive task whose monotony permitted her too much time to think. A swell of emotion threatened to overwhelm her. She didn't normally succumb to self-pity but today she was feeling sorrier for herself than usual. Images from the past shimmered at the edge of her consciousness.

Asha? Asha? Are you all right? You're white as a sheet! Are you dizzy?

The voice yanked her out of her reverie. Composing herself, she turned toward the pretty blonde frowning at her in concern.

What? Oh. Kendra, I'm sorry. I'm fine; I guess I'm just tired, Asha told her. We're done here. I'm sorry you all had to spend the day working your asses off. I wanted you to have the whole weekend free but you know how it is. When the hay's baled, you drop everything and get it into the barn. You deserved a break after last weekend, but it couldn't be helped. I hope you're not too tired to have a good time.

"Oh, we're tired, but not that tired! Kendra said emphatically, pushing a loose tendril away from her face. I'd have to be half dead to miss the concert."

Daniels College in nearby Hanover, New Hampshire, provided a year-round selection of lectures, exhibits, concerts and performances. Tickets for tonight's concert had been sold out for months.

Once the flatbed was empty, the two men who'd been lifting bales from it scrambled into the hayloft. Grasping one end of the hay elevator, they pulled it inside and stowed it along the wall of the hayloft. Then the pair clambered back down the wooden ladder.

Okay, Asha, you're all set; we're going to head out, the older of the two said.

Asha smiled gamely and pulled some bills from the back pocket of her jeans. She handed a wilted hundred to each of them. I really appreciate your help. We really needed the manpower. It's such a relief to see a whole year's supply of hay in the barn.

I can use the extra bucks, Jerry told her, slipping the bill into a filthy canvas wallet. And it sure beats staying home listening to my old lady nag me about something or other. He drained his beer, then crumpled the can in his fist, tossed it into the bed of his blue pickup and hoisted himself into the truck.

Jerry leaned out the window and looked back at Tim, still standing by the barn door with Asha. You ready to pull out?

Tim shook his head. Think I'll have another beer. I'll catch up with you later. He turned to Asha. That's all right, isn't it? Another beer, I mean?

No! It is not all right.

Asha had been anticipating the moment when everyone left. She wanted to feed the horses, take a long shower, crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. Instead, she pasted on a smile. Sure. Another beer sounds good to me, too, she lied.

It occurred to her, not for the first time, she needed to find a new therapist. She was fond of Mary Rosenthal, but her issues were clearly not resolved, after all this time. It wasn't in her nature to be peevish, and she had to make such an effort to maintain a veneer but July was getting no easier for her to endure. And it always grew harder still as the anniversary date itself grew closer.

Can you eat some nachos? she asked Tim.

He nodded, suppressing a grin.

Good. I'm starving. C'mon in. I think I've got all the stuff to make some.

They walked in silence the short distance to the house, a rustic-looking weathered-wood cabin, with a wide wraparound porch and lots of windows. The surrounding grove of blue spruce afforded a lovely sense of privacy. As they went inside, Tim looked around, his professional carpenter's eye carefully assessing the construction.

I'll bet I know exactly what you're thinking, Asha said, watching his forehead crease in a tiny frown as he assessed the kitchen's black slate floor. And you're exactly right. Anything that gets dropped in here is as good as broken before it even hits the floor. On the plus side, that huge bank of windows lets the sunlight pour in and the flooring traps and holds the warmth.

You'd never guess what it's like from the outside, Tim marveled. It looks like something out of a magazine.

Asha didn't have the energy or the interest to hold this conversation. A headache started to pulse behind her left eye.

She handed Tim a grater and a block of yellow cheddar, produced not far away in Vermont's Northeast Kingdom and marketed nationally. She eyed the ridges of muscle in his forearms as he reduced it to a pile of shavings on the plate she'd laid on the counter.

This is a great house, Tim said a half hour later. His beer mug had left a wet circle on the wooden tabletop. He wiped the wetness away with his sleeve and reached for a brochure to set the glass on.

Don't use that! Asha snapped. That's an entry form. Hearing the tone of her voice, she apologized. I'm sorry. I must be tired. Use this. She handed him the latest issue of Dressage Today.

I always thought a house had to fit a particular style, Tim said. This place looks like a ski lodge from the outside. But the leather furniture and Oriental rugs inside suit it.

It's all wood—practically maintenance free, Asha commented. I won't be a slave to my house. This place has no sheetrock, no wallpaper, and no wall-to-wall carpeting.

You must have a green thumb, Tim complimented her. My mother does, too. She would love this house. But I couldn't guarantee how long all these ferns would last if I lived here.

Do you still live at home?

Not anymore. After my dad died, I dropped out of school and moved back in with my mother. She remarried a year and a half ago, and it wasn't working with me there. My stepfather, Dan, is a decent guy. But now he's sitting at the table where my dad always sat, and using my dad's tools and stuff.

You live by yourself now? Asha asked.

No. I moved in with one of the guys I work with. I couldn't afford rent by myself at first. Now that I'm making decent money, I can afford to move. But it's easier just to stay where I am, I guess. There hasn't been any need to look for another place.

You work as a carpenter? Mentally Asha rolled her eyes. That was really stupid. As if I want to hear his life history.

I do now. I was majoring in architecture in school before I quit. My dad had taught me a lot of carpentry, so I didn't have any trouble finding a job. I was just one of the crew at first, but the big boss, Lou, fell off some scaffolding and hurt his back. He needed surgery, and he's been out the past four months. I've been doing his bookwork and estimates and stuff. I don't know if I'll ever go back to school. I'd probably have to start all over again, and I'd have to work my way through now that my dad's gone. Well, anyway…, he trailed off. That's why I'm so interested in your house.

Asha didn't even respond. No sense encouraging him in this conversation.

What about you? he asked after an awkward silence. Where do you work?

Asha pushed her chair back, picking up Tim's plate and then her own. I'm stuffed. She glanced at the expensive stainless-and-gold watch on her left wrist. A pang of grief twisted through her as she recalled its inscription.

I've got to feed the horses. They're on a pretty strict schedule and I'm sure they're hungry, she called from the kitchen. Asha felt tears prickling the insides of her eyelids. Maybe he'll get the hint and leave now, before the conversation gets too personal. I sure don't want to wind up sobbing on the nearest shoulder. Which will be his if he doesn't hurry up and get the hell out of here!

The heat of the day was gone, and the air had turned cool and blue. Asha went into the feed room, comforted by doing familiar tasks. Twelve plastic pans had been filled and stacked one on top of another. She lifted them out, six at a time and carried them down the aisle. The horses were restless, waiting impatiently for her to dump the grain into their corner feeders.

Did you boys enjoy your day off? she asked as she moved from stall to stall. The barn looks great, she noted with satisfaction. You'd never know we put hay in this afternoon. The aisle had been swept and all the tools hung neatly in their places. Well, that's what I keep telling my students―riding begins on the ground.

Asha returned to the feed room and quickly set up the morning feeds. She took another pan and scooped out a reduced ration then started back down the aisle.

Whoever designed this did a good job, Tim said from behind her. It's really well laid out.

She whirled around. Oh, God! I thought you'd gone, she blurted. It's Saturday night. Don't you have a date or something?

Actually, I do. But it's a kind of standing date. I don't have to be anywhere at a specific time. He checked his watch. Come to think of it, I ought to get going, he added. But instead of leaving, he leaned against the wall and watched Asha step into a nearby stall. What's the matter with that horse?

The others are here for training, or they're for sale. This is my own personal horse. I think he got kicked and I'm keeping an eye on the swelling. He gets short rations because he's on stall rest.

As she spoke, she bent down and unfastened the closures on the Thermacold wrap on one of his hind legs. She ran a practiced hand down the injured limb. I was going to give him hay in his stall, but the swelling's way down. He can go out for a while now and move around.

What kind of horse is that? Tim asked. A rueful smile played around his mouth. Not that I'd know one from another, he admitted.

"He's a Thoroughbred gelding. He had an undistinguished racing career and got himself run through a sale for some behavior problems. I got him for next to nothing.

Ex-racehorses aren't worth much, she explained. They're raced so young they haven't really had time to develop and they break down. They usually have leg problems or they're so high strung they're not suitable for pleasure riding. The Thoroughbred temperament is built in. You have to love them and be willing to cope with it. I've never had a Thoroughbred. They're smart and beautiful, but my trainers always felt I'd do better with a more sensible horse.

Where did you get him? Tim asked.

Asha sensed he was stalling for time. She almost laughed aloud as she caught her own pun. She bit the inside of her cheek to stifle her amusement. I went to a sale with one of my students. We were looking for a horse for her and I saw this poor guy. There was just something about him. It was like he needed me. I bought him on impulse. Only one other person bid on him—a meat merchant. My horses and I have always been partners. We respected each other and worked well together, but I've never had a horse just to be my friend. Harley doesn't have to pay his way. His reason for being here is that he gives me so much pleasure.

Her eyes misted and she sucked in a deep breath. I feel good in the morning just knowing I'm going to see him. She gave a short burst of laughter. That was some monologue, wasn't it? C'mon, I'll walk you out to your truck.

****

Tuesday evening, Tim stepped out of the shower and tied a towel around his waist. It was already seven o'clock, but it was still 80 degrees.

He pulled on a pair of faded jeans and opened his closet door, contemplating the selection of shirts. He chose a white button-down oxford and rolled the sleeves up his tanned forearms. From experience, he knew it was a look women couldn't seem to resist. He slid his bare feet into a pair of loafers, shoved his wallet into his back pocket and grabbed his keys from the dresser.

Tim hadn't been able to get Asha out of his mind. He lay in bed at night and thought about her, tried to imagine what her life must be like. He found himself daydreaming about her at work—until finally his crew noticed and started teasing him.

Hey, pal, what's the matter with you? Doug had asked that morning. You feeling okay?

At lunchtime, Mike elbowed Doug and said, I'll bet it's some broad. Is that it, Timmy boy? You got the hots for some broad?

Tim felt an erection starting and his face burned. His expression didn't change, but he surreptitiously shifted his sandwich wrapper.

He slowed as he approached the dark-green mailbox with its neat red lettering, and turned in at the driveway. Without consciously realizing it, his innate sense of design and proportion approved the presentation. Pines bordered the road on the right, and split-rail fencing outlined the fields to his left.

He counted seven horses grazing in the nearest field and recognized Harley. He parked his truck near the barn and went in through the door he'd used Saturday. He wasn't sure where to look for Asha this time of day. She might be in the house or still out at the barn.

Oh, God! You scared me. The petite blonde slumped against the wall, a hand over her heart. I didn't hear you come in. She pulled her earbuds out and lay the cord around the back of her neck.

I'm sorry, Tim said. How are you, Kerry?

Kendra.

Oh. Kendra. I'm sorry.

Don't be sorry. Just don't forget again, she scolded, flashing her sexiest smile.

I'm looking for Asha. Is she around?

Kendra's smile dimmed slightly, then brightened. Asha? No, she isn't. She left around 5:30 and went somewhere in a hurry. I don't know when she'll be back. Then, as an opportunity presented itself, she added, Probably not 'til late. It's my turn to do stalls tonight—me and Karin. But we're almost done. I just have to dump this load and put down fresh shavings. I could use a change of scenery. Any chance you've got time for a beer?

Tim's impulse was to refuse, but he couldn't think of a reason quickly enough. He'd hoped to see Asha and didn't particularly want to spend the evening with anyone else. But then, he figured, Asha wasn't here and, if he left, he wouldn't have accomplished anything. Sure, he heard himself agreeing. This way he might learn more about Asha and the time wouldn't be wasted. Is there something I can help you with?

Kendra eyed his white shirt. No. You're clean and I'm filthy, but thanks anyway.

Kendra, are you through yet? a voice called. I'm starving. A tall redhead backed out of a stall at the far end of the aisle and came toward Tim and Kendra, pushing an oversize wheelbarrow.

Hi. Weren't you here last Saturday, helping with hay? Before Tim could answer, she went on. I suppose everybody's eaten by now. If there's any spaghetti left over, we could zap it. Do you want to put this stuff away and I'll go see?

Um… well, Tim and I are going out for a couple of beers, Kendra said.

Oh, great! Karin exclaimed, brushing off her hands. We could get a pizza. It's okay if I come along, isn't it? I mean, it's not a date or anything…

Kendra turned away before anyone could see the fury in her eyes. Sure. No problem, she assured Karin. The more the merrier.

We'll have to jump in the shower, she told Tim. Be about fifteen minutes. You can come up and wait. Follow me. We live over the barn. She gestured toward the stairs at the end of the aisle.

It's like a big apartment, Karin said. There are six of us, but it doesn't feel crowded.

Asha calls this the mud room, Kendra started to explain to Tim. She broke off abruptly at her inadvertent mention of Asha.

Tim's glance took in the row of tall black rubber riding boots and the hooks with a row of helmets, neatly hung. As Karin came through the door, he realized both girls wore identical dark green T-shirts with Willow Farm lettered in red across the front, jeans and green rubber boots.

Are you fraternal twins or is that a uniform? he asked, half joking.

Come in and sit down, Karin ordered. We'll hurry.

Tim recognized Asha's sense of style in the furnishings.

Hey, Karin, what tests are you doing on Saturday? A girl in a threadbare terrycloth robe with a towel wound, turban-style, around her head came into the room without looking up. Jesus Christ, she swore when she finally looked up and saw Tim. You scared the shit out of me. Ellen Guertin, she added, introducing herself. Sorry if I was rude. We don't get too many gentlemen callers up here. Usually we're so tired we just eat, do laundry, fill out entries or watch TV. Nobody has the energy to think about men or clothes anymore.

Well, some of us are making an exception tonight, Karin said, coming back into the room. "Have you met? This is Tim Hadley. He's a friend of Asha's, but she's not around, so we've conned him into taking us out for pizza and beer.

Kendra appeared in the doorway. Ready?

She stood framed in the doorway to let Tim get the full effect. Her clean white jeans fit like a second skin. She'd hurriedly shampooed her hair and blown it dry. It grazed her shoulders in a sweep the color and texture of corn silk. Her white tank top accentuated a deep, even tan.

My God, Karin howled, taking in Kendra's cobalt espadrilles and woven straw shoulder bag in shades of blue. The cobalt cashmere sweater slung casually over one shoulder made Kendra's blue eyes light up like high beams. You didn't tell me you were getting dressed up, she protested. It's not fair! You look like a million bucks and I look like dog doo-doo. Oh, well, I only care about food at this point. You driving? she asked Tim and not waiting for an answer.

You really do look terrific, Tim told Kendra motioning her ahead of him.

Karin had already climbed into the front seat of Tim's king cab.

Where to? Tim asked, turning the key in the ignition.

Go to the end of the drive, then turn right, Kendra said, draping herself elegantly over the back of the front seat, strategically between Tim and Karin. Let's go to The Great Impasta.

Chapter Two

The restaurant wasn't crowded and Karin led the way to a round table in a corner by the window. She gestured to a chair and grinned. "We'll put you in the middle, Tim. The food here is fabulous. I don't come here much, but when I do—well, it's just nice to be away from