Читать книгу Dry Creek Daddy - Janet Tronstad - Страница 14

Chapter Two

Mark wished he hadn’t bought the bags of feed that now filled the back seat of his pickup. He could barely smell the fading rose that had been lying on the seat of his pickup. The poor flower had no water tube. He felt a little foolish having it there now that Mr. Stelling was claiming that he needed to ride in the middle of the seat. It was difficult to be gallant and give a rose to a woman when the woman’s father was seated between them. Mr. Stelling had his knee braced against the gear shift and Hannah was huddled in the opposite side of the cab looking like she was weighed down by the troubles of the whole world—not that she would admit it.

Mark figured he’d made a little progress with her, but it wasn’t enough. It had been so easy to be her hero when they were younger. Now she wouldn’t even talk to him.

“You’ll need to get these shocks checked,” Mr. Stelling complained as he pressed his knuckles down on the seat’s padding. “Not very comfortable.”

Mark put his vehicle into Reverse. He turned to give Hannah a quick smile but saw she wasn’t looking his way.

“Dad,” Hannah protested, still looking out the windshield.

“Well, there’s too much bouncing on the passenger side,” her father said as he turned to face her. “A man needs to take good care of his pickup. Mark should know that.”

Hannah turned to look at her father. “It doesn’t matter. He’s doing us a favor.”

Mr. Stelling turned back to stare out the front window.

In all that time, Hannah hadn’t spared Mark a glance.

“Your father just likes to keep me away from you,” Mark said, hoping he’d get a chuckle from at least one of them.

Hannah didn’t turn his way and Mr. Stelling didn’t answer. The other man had a white bandage wrapped around his head, and he was sitting straight in the seat just like the nurse had asked him to.

“Not that I blame him for that,” Mark added.

That didn’t gain him any further response, so Mark kept silent as he made the turn from the parking lot to the main street leading to the freeway.

“I don’t like hospitals,” Mr. Stelling finally said. “They make me cranky.”

Mark figured that was as close to an apology as he’d get from the older man.

“None of us like them,” Mark agreed. They were crowded together in the cab, but at least now it didn’t feel quite as awkward.

Within a few minutes, they were on the freeway and headed back to Dry Creek. There was little traffic. Large empty fields lined both sides of the freeway. Mark refrained from mentioning that all those other ranchers had managed to get their wheat harvested. A herd of deer stood in the distance, grazing. The clouds on the horizon looked darker than they had been. Mark only hoped the rain would hold off long enough to get Mr. Stelling’s harvest done.

“I shouldn’t have made that remark about your head being damaged,” Mr. Stelling offered when they’d driven a few miles. He was silent for a while and then asked, “Did it hurt much all those years you were out of it?”

“You mean during the coma?” Mark turned slightly. It was not surprising the older man would ask about that time. Everyone seemed curious. “No, it didn’t hurt. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t remember much.”

Mr. Stelling nodded. “My wife, she was in a coma a few days before she died.”

“Ah.” Mark understood now. He’d forgotten that fact. “Don’t worry. She wasn’t in any pain.”

A few more miles passed. Mark wondered if he’d always be known as the man who’d been in a coma. People used to say he’d do great things in his life—that he’d be a hero. No one said that any longer. He even had some sensational grocery store newspaper call and offer him a “significant amount of money” to interview him for a story. The thought made him cringe. He didn’t want to be known as the man who had been stuck in a coma for four years. A man needed some dignity.

Mark thought a moment. “I still don’t remember everything about that night when I got shot.”

Mark didn’t want his life laid out to satisfy the curiosity of strangers, but he did want to tell Hannah how sorry he was about what happened back then, and this might be his only chance to do so.

“I’d called and asked you to come over and talk to me,” Hannah said. Her voice was low, but she had turned so he could see her. He wasn’t sure of her emotions from her eyes, but he thought he saw some hurt in their depths. He wanted to soothe it away.

“I remember that clearly,” Mark said. “Your dad was at some church meeting, but I still parked my pickup out by the driveway into the ranch and you walked out to meet me. Some of your mother’s flowers were blooming.”

“The wild roses.” Hannah smiled then. “You could smell them all along the fence. It was a moonlit night.”

“They were a deep pink,” Mark offered. “Beautiful.”

Mr. Stelling grunted. “I would have grounded her for a month if I’d known she was seeing you behind my back. You never were any good for her.”

“He was my friend,” Hannah protested even though she didn’t look over at him. “There was a bully at school and he always protected me.”

“I still am your friend,” Mark said. “I hope you know that even though there probably aren’t any bullies now.”

Except for your father, Mark added to himself silently. He figured Hannah wouldn’t want him to say that, though. She didn’t answer, and memories flooded Mark. He’d thought she had circles under her red-rimmed eyes that night because she was coming down with a cold. He hadn’t realized until later that she had been scared and had likely been crying.

“I should have told you straight out that I was pregnant,” Hannah said quietly. She did glance up at him then. “Instead, all I could do was pick a fight. I wanted to argue. I thought there would be time to tell you about the baby when you came back.”

Mark shook his head. “It was my fault.”

Her father grunted this time. “I’ll say.”

“Do you mind?” Mark asked the man. “We’re trying to have a conversation here.”

“You can’t order people around,” Mr. Stelling said. Then he crossed his arms over his stomach. “Who do you think you are, anyway?”

“I don’t know any longer,” Mark snapped back without thinking. On the day he and Hannah were trying to discuss, he’d known exactly who he was. He’d just been awarded a full scholarship to the college in Missoula. Everyone said he’d win at least two events in the local teen rodeo like he had for the past three years. He craved prizes like that. Somehow it was proof that he was somebody—a hero of sorts. He didn’t think he’d see any more of those wins again in life. No one gave out brass-plated belt buckles to someone for learning to tie their shoes.

He glanced over at Hannah. He had defended her from everything once. Now he wasn’t sure if he could protect her from anything.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The least he could do was get on that combine and harvest her father’s wheat. He didn’t want her to have to do that. She looked tired to him.

“That night was my fault,” Hannah said again, her voice firm. “I shouldn’t have gone on like I did. You were excited about that scholarship and all I could see was that it was pulling you away from me.”

“No,” Mark protested. There was that flash of hurt in her eyes again. “I always saw that scholarship as being for us. For a chance to live a good life for us—you, me and—well, I wasn’t thinking of children then, but it would have been all of us.”

He’d never thought he’d be content to be a rancher. He had wanted to win all the prizes the world had. He pictured Hannah on his arm, looking proud. A big house. An important job. Lots of money. Truthfully, he didn’t ever remember asking himself if that was the kind of life that Hannah would want, though.

“Well, if I hadn’t been so upset, you wouldn’t have gone off like you did,” she insisted. “I knew that scholarship was important to you.”

Mark shook his head. He wasn’t willing to let himself off the hook that easily. “It wasn’t about the scholarship. No one forced me to go out drinking with Clay. He didn’t even want to go driving around. Besides, my mother had always told me never to start drinking. She knew my father had a terrible time with it and she worried I’d inherit that from him.”

No one needed to say anything more. Mark had let alcohol overtake him that night. He became so confused he came up with the crazy idea of taking the hunting rifle from the rack in his pickup and going in to rob that gas station. He couldn’t remember what he’d been thinking. But he still clearly saw the slice of time when he’d turned that gun on the male clerk inside the station and demanded money. Events had happened fast then. The clerk turned out to be an ex-marine and skilled enough in combat to disarm Mark. In the scuffle, the gun had discharged and the bullet slammed into Mark’s head.

He sat there a minute, just driving as he watched the farmland go by. He was more content than he thought he’d be with his future on the family ranch. He turned toward Hannah. “Don’t let Jeremy ever drink.”

Until this moment, Mark hadn’t realized that the Nelson curse of alcoholism could touch his precious son.

Hannah grinned and glanced at him over her father’s head. “So far Jeremy hasn’t asked for anything stronger than grape juice. That’s his favorite. He tends to spill so he takes it in a sippy cup, but he’s almost ready for a regular big boy cup.”

Mark basked in the moment. This was the kind of conversation parents would have.

“The boy should be drinking milk, not juice,” Mr. Stelling announced.

Mark saw Hannah bite back a response. He was glad they were making the turn off the gravel road. There was a lot of irritation in his pickup and only some of it belonged to him. Still, he was pleased to be escorting Hannah home.

* * *

Hannah felt her stomach muscles clench as the pickup turned into the drive leading to her father’s house. The sky had grown lighter although it remained gray. The conversation had bumped along all the way back from Miles City, and she saw the scowl on her father’s face deepen as he looked at his place. She figured he regretted the deal with Mark. But it was too late; Mark was already parking the pickup, and someone needed to run the combine.

“At least the rain is holding off,” she said, hoping to ease the tension. Every rancher she knew liked to talk about the weather. The clouds were gray, but there had been no droplets on the windshield of the pickup.

Both men just grunted in response to her observation.

Mark opened the door on his side of the cab and she did the same. She was relieved to step down onto the hard-packed ground. Maybe things would be friendlier now that they were home.

She startled herself by even thinking of this place as home. But she took a good look around. It had been twilight when she arrived at her father’s ranch last night and dark when she left this morning. Now, seeing the place in full light, she noticed signs of neglect. Weeds had long ago overtaken her mother’s old garden space. The buildings needed new paint. Every fall her father had hired a local man to grade the road from the house to the barn, but it hadn’t been done in what looked like years.

She heard her father slide across the seat and step down from the pickup.

In spite of everything, she had some warm memories of living here. She hoped she would be able to do a few things to fix it up in the time she’d have.

“It’s good to be home,” she said softly.

Her father gave her a long look. Then he nodded curtly and started walking toward the house.

Hannah watched him make his way to the porch. She wondered if she could ever make her peace with this man. She’d heard sermons about forgiveness and figured her adoptive father was high on the list of people she needed to work on in that area.

She’d need God’s grace to do anything like that, she thought to herself as she followed her father over to the house.

She walked up the steps behind the older man. Mark was right behind her.

Her father paused as he stood in front of the door to the house.

“There’s no need for you to come in,” he announced as he reached for the knob. He kept his back toward Hannah.

“Mark will need something to drink,” she finally said, figuring the words must have been addressed to him. “Water, at least. Maybe iced tea. Operating that combine is dusty work.”

She sensed Mark stopping next to her. She never had understood her father’s grudge against the Nelson family. He’d had it before she’d been adopted and it seemed to be still active in his mind.

Her father turned then. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her directly. “I meant you, too. I can take it from here. I’ll bring out a gallon of water if you both just take a seat on the steps.”

His words caught her by surprise. She felt them slice through her like a knife. Mark moved closer.

Then, as her father started to push the door open, she realized what he was doing.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Hannah protested as she reached out and touched his shoulder. He turned, but didn’t meet her gaze. “I promised that nurse—the doctor, too—that I would keep an eye on you. You need to let me in the house or we are both sitting out here.”

Her father hadn’t invited her inside last night, either. Instead he came out on the porch to tell her that she and “that boy of yours” could stay in the small house by the barn.

“The doctor knows best,” she added. “He said I was to check you out every fifteen minutes for the first few hours. I can’t do that if I can’t see you.”

Hannah could tell her words were not convincing him.

“She’s right. You have to cooperate,” Mark said firmly.

Her father stood there, blocking their view of the inside of the house.

“My place is a mess,” he finally mumbled as he went inside.

“That’s not a problem.” Hannah stepped into the doorway after him. She was glad to understand his hesitation. He was embarrassed. That could be fixed.

It was dark inside and it took a moment for Hannah to see everything.

“Oh.” She looked around in dismay. The living room was not just cluttered; it had been dismantled. Ragged shades covered the windows and the curtains had been ripped off their rods.

“Mom and I made those drapes,” Hannah exclaimed as she surveyed the empty rods. Her mother had carefully selected the deep-blue-and-gold floral brocade. She thought it made the house look happy. Hannah had run the sewing machine because her mother was so weak by then. Hannah looked over at her father. “She wanted to give you a place of comfort. An oasis.”

Mark was standing behind her father and, when her father didn’t look up at her, she raised her questioning eyes to him instead.

Mark shrugged. “Maybe he was too busy out in the fields to do much housework. It happens.”

It didn’t happen in this house, Hannah thought. Her father had been as meticulous about things as her mother had been.

For the first time since Hannah had come back, she was glad her father didn’t want her and Jeremy to stay in this house. Her son needed sunshine and cheer if he was going to beat his illness. The house by the barn, even with the boarded-up window in the one bedroom, would be better than this.

Her father still wasn’t meeting her eyes and Hannah felt sorry for him. “When we get the crops in, I might be able to sew up some new curtains for you.”

Her father looked at her then before he shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“How could—” Hannah started but then saw Mark give a slight shake of his head. She swallowed. “No matter. Let’s see about getting a cup of tea made for you.” She looked at her father. “I’m assuming you still like hot tea.”

He nodded.

“No cream, extra sugar?” she asked. “English Breakfast?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll take it in the kitchen at the table.”

Her father walked into the kitchen and closed the door.

Hannah looked over at Mark, wondering if he’d understood how hard it had been for her to find some common ground with her father. But Mark wasn’t focused on her. Instead, he was staring at the wall behind the sofa.

She turned around.

“Oh,” she gasped. What had gone on in this room after she left here four years ago? “My pictures are gone.”

Her mother had set up the photo wall to display the annual school pictures that Hannah received. There’d been seven large photos displayed in gold metal frames. She had gapped teeth in the first when she was ten years old and smooth curls in the last photo when she was seventeen. Those photos made her feel she belonged here. The only things left on the wall now were the nails from which they’d hung.

“He had no right to do this,” Mark said fiercely as he walked over to stand beside Hannah.

He knew what those pictures meant to her. Her mother had been so proud when she’d hung each one.

“I need to forgive him,” Hannah said as she looked up at Mark. She blinked back her tears. “The Bible says so.”

“But you’re his daughter,” Mark protested. “This is your home.”

“Mrs. Hargrove told me he’s stopped going to church,” Hannah whispered. She’d not thought much about that revelation, assuming her father was just catching up on ranch work. Now she wondered.

“He has no one to blame but himself if he’s lonely,” Mark said as he took a step closer to her. She longed to lean into him like she would have when she was much younger. But she needed to stand strong herself these days and she might as well start now. She couldn’t trust anyone to prop her up.

She shook her head. “My dad just misses Mom.”

“We all do,” Mark said and then paused. “Do you forgive everyone?”

“I try.” Hannah remembered how Mark always seemed to know her heart. She looked up as he stood there. In a moment, the hard years rolled away and she felt a rush of emotions. Maybe it was nothing but nostalgia. She didn’t know, but she had been in love with Mark a long time ago. She saw the same kind of emotion flit through his eyes before he turned thoughtful.

“Then why did you send back my letters?” he asked.

“What?” Hannah wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. She’d never gotten any letters. Nor had she expected any since he was in a coma for so long. She’d taken Jeremy to visit him once in the hospital nursing home over a year ago, but Mark had not been conscious for that. Still, he was looking at her like he expected a response. “I—”

She was interrupted by the sound of a dish breaking in the kitchen.

“I better go,” she said as she headed for the doorway. She heard Mark’s footsteps following behind her. She wished he wasn’t here to witness the problems with her father, but she had no choice. She only hoped he would leave before her whole world crashed down upon her.