Читать книгу Dry Creek Daddy - Janet Tronstad - Страница 15

Chapter Three

Mark stood in the doorway, relieved to see the kitchen hadn’t been as trashed as the living room. Yellow striped cotton curtains hung from rods on these windows. The beige countertop was worn, but empty of clutter. Mark was only beginning to understand the ripple effect of that night when he’d been injured. It hadn’t been only his and Hannah’s lives that had been thrown into chaos. His family had been hurt. Her father wounded. And Jeremy—what price had his son paid?

“You’ve kept the teakettle up nicely,” Hannah said from where she stood at the sink. “It’s polished.” Her father nodded from his place by the refrigerator. She seemed determined to be cheerful as she turned the water on and began to fill the copper kettle. Mark remembered she had often done that when they were children. Most children would complain at least a little about their parents. Not Hannah. She just put on a positive face and pretended everything was all fine.

“I kept everything up,” her father said as he walked over to the table. “That is, until—”

Mr. Stelling stood there mute before finally pulling out a chair.

Hannah’s jaw tightened, but she was silent.

“Until what?” Mark demanded. He might not have much to offer Hannah any longer, but he could at least stand as her champion in this house. He didn’t like that she felt the need to pretend to a satisfaction that couldn’t possibly be there.

The older man winced as he sat down. “I thought she—” he nodded toward Hannah “—and the boy might want to come for Christmas. I decided I needed to paint the living room before I asked—”

Mark heard the kettle fall and hit the bottom of the sink. He looked over at Hannah. Her mask was crumbling. Wide-eyed, she was staring at her father in genuine gratitude. Her father might be cranky, but he was not her enemy.

“But you never even wrote to me,” she said.

“I didn’t have your address,” her father mumbled. “I was going to get it from Mrs. Hargrove, but I thought I’d do the walls first. Then you called.”

“But I don’t care about the walls,” Hannah said as she took a step toward her father. She was wiping her wet hands on her jeans as she went. “At least, not much.”

Mark was struck by something else.

“You didn’t have her address?” he asked her father.

The other man shook his head.

Mark had assumed Mr. Stelling would know where his daughter was. All of the letters Mark had written when he was recovering in the nursing home had been addressed to this house with the notation to forward them. No wonder they had been returned.

By the time Mark figured it all out, Hannah was standing in her father’s arms. Mark wasn’t sure, but he thought there was a tear or two trailing down her cheeks.

Lord, thank You. Mark sent the prayer up as he watched the reunion between Hannah and her father. Mark would have given anything to be Hannah’s protector again, but it was not necessary.

He had nothing useful to do for Hannah, he realized. When they had been children, he’d stopped that boy in their class from teasing her on the playground. Mark had been proud to do that. Even his mother had been pleased with him that day. Accomplishments like that had brought expressions of love from his mother. She beamed when Mark was on the honor roll. She cheered when he won races at the school track meet. She would have screamed encouragement at his rodeos if she’d lived that long. Being a hero in his mother’s eyes had been the way Mark gained her love. He had always assumed that he would be able to lay similar accomplishments at the feet of Hannah and earn her love, too.

But his days of winning were over. He doubted he’d ever ace another competition. He’d had plenty of compliments in the nursing home, but in the real world, no one was likely to genuinely praise him because he’d remembered how to use a spoon.

“I was going to paint the walls eggshell white,” Mr. Stelling said as Hannah stepped back. “Your mother always said that was a color that looked good in any light.”

Hannah nodded. “Yes, she did say that.”

Hannah’s face wore the expression Mark had hoped to see when she looked at him. She was luminous with love. She just wasn’t looking at him.

Mark glanced away toward the window. The sky was dark as gunmetal. It could start to rain at any moment.

“I’d best get that jug of water,” Mark said as he turned toward the sink. He felt about as unnecessary at the moment as a doorstop in a room that had no exits.

“On the top cabinet,” Mr. Stelling said as he pointed to a high shelf.

Mark nodded his thanks to the man as he reached for the gallon jug. That was the most civil comment he’d ever heard from Hannah’s father.

“I’ve got the mechanical part you bought in Miles City out in the back of my pickup,” Mark offered as he pulled the glass container down off the shelf. The replacement part for the combine had ridden there on the trip back from the hospital. “I should have the old one off and the new one on before long.”

“I can help you with that,” Mr. Stelling offered.

“The doctor said—” Hannah protested.

“I won’t be doing anything much,” her father replied. “The faster we get that new part on the combine, the quicker Mark can start harvesting the wheat.”

Mark took the jug to the sink and turned the cold faucet on. He’d appreciate having some water when the day grew warmer. That is, if it didn’t rain.

The water soothed him as he let it run. Crops and ranching had been deeper in his blood than he’d realized in high school. He wondered if he would have been content in the world of awards and money he’d dreamed of back then.

* * *

Hannah watched her father stand by as Mark filled the jar with water. The next step would be to wrap an old gunny sack around the glass and get the cloth wet. The moisture on the sack would evaporate and keep the bottle’s contents cool. It was an old rancher’s trick that her mother had explained one hot day.

“I’ll call Mrs. Hargrove,” Hannah said to the men. “She might be able to drive Jeremy back here if I explain what happened today.” She looked at Mark. “I hope you can eat with us. I’ll have something ready at noon. I’m not sure what it will be, but—”

Mark beamed at her. “Make something Jeremy will like.”

Hannah smiled. “Are you sure? That would be macaroni and cheese or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

“Fine with me,” Mark said.

“The boy should have some vegetables,” her father said gruffly. “He can’t get over whatever ails him on macaroni and cheese.”

Hannah felt the smile fade from her face. For a moment, she’d forgotten. “Food won’t make any difference.”

“How come?” Her father barked the words like he was a drill sergeant. “Vitamins and fresh air will cure most anything that’s wrong with a young boy.”

Hannah could see that her father was curious. It was Mark who worried her more, though. He stood there with a thoughtful look on his face.

Everyone was silent for a time.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mark finally asked. “Have you seen a doctor?”

Hannah nodded. “And I see another one on Wednesday. Then I will just need a little time to—”

She let her voice trail off. She wasn’t exactly sure what she needed to do to prepare her son for his treatments. And she didn’t want other people telling him things that might worry him. “I’ll have more answers by then, at least.”

“The boy can visit with me while I recover from my concussion,” her father offered. “I hear from Mrs. Hargrove that he’s quite the chatterbox.”

“His name is Jeremy,” Hannah said. “And he’d like that.”

She hadn’t told her son that he had two grandfathers, but Jeremy was fond of Mark’s father and she used to let him visit that grandfather once in a while. Jeremy always had a good time doing that. She’d never felt free to bring him to see her own father but she figured it would work, as well.

“He’s an easygoing child,” Hannah continued, convincing herself as much as anyone else that the meeting between her father and Jeremy would be positive.

“I’ve heard he’s got a vivid imagination,” Mark said with a grin. “My sister said he turned her broom into a horse on the first time he visited. She couldn’t sweep the floor for days because he was rounding up cattle.”

Hannah looked at Mark and nodded. She wasn’t sure how she felt about sharing Jeremy with him. Part of her was glad for both of them, but the other part wished the meeting between them would take place after Jeremy was well again.

Please, God, make him well again, she prayed as she stood there.

She was more than willing to share Jeremy with anyone who would love him, but she wanted to be sure her son was strong before she risked him gaining a father who might slight him. She knew Mark was watching her, but she didn’t know what more she could add to her words.

“He likes horses,” Hannah finally settled for adding.

Mark nodded. “Does he have any television heroes? You know, from the cartoons?”

Hannah shrugged. “He’s not a cartoon, but he’s partial to Davy Crockett.”

Mark laughed in seeming delight. “A frontiersman?”

“And he loves comic books,” Hannah said, smiling just seeing Mark so happy. “All of those bang-up wow characters are his favorites. The one that climbs walls like a spider and, of course, the cowboys that fight bank robbers. He refuses to go anywhere without at least a few of his comic books. He calls them his heroes.”

“I used to like comics, too,” Mark said. “He and I are going to have fun.”

With that, Mark picked up the jar and wrapped it up in the gunny sack her father had pulled from beneath the sink.

Hannah stood there while Mark walked outside. Her father sat at the table for a few minutes before finally getting to his feet.

“I’m glad Mark is helping us,” her father said as he looked at Hannah. “But I don’t want you to be getting too friendly with him. You and Jeremy need someone who will be there for you and not be going off to the hospital.”

Hannah frowned. “He couldn’t help being in that coma.”

Her father shook his head. “If it wasn’t a coma, it would have been something else. The Nelson men are no good when it comes to women. They stray—even tempting good women when they do. I won’t see you hurt again.”

“I appreciate the concern,” Hannah said. Her father looked worried, but she didn’t understand why. “Mark has always been good to me.”

“He’s a chip off the old block,” her father said. “First it was the wild drunkenness—just like his father. Old Man Nelson used to have those blackout spells, too, when he had too much to drink. Next it will be chasing women all over town. Believe me, I know what the Nelson men are capable of doing.”

With that, her father limped out of the kitchen. “I best go see he gets that part on the combine right.”

Hannah just stood where she was. She didn’t know what to think. Her father was bitter about something, but it had been that way since she and Mark were kids so it wasn’t the robbery. Whatever it was, it wasn’t fair to blame Mark for something his father must have done.

She finally moved over to the window. Her father and Mark were walking out to the combine together. It didn’t look like they were talking, though. She figured the next two days would be quiet ones around here.

She reached over to pick up the receiver on the black wall phone next to the kitchen cabinet.

“Mrs. Hargrove?” Hannah said after she’d dialed the number and gotten an answer. She recognized the older woman’s voice immediately.

“I’m wondering if you can bring Jeremy over to my dad’s house?” Hannah asked, figuring Mrs. Hargrove wouldn’t be surprised by the state of the living room walls. “My dad has a concussion and I’m watching him for the doctor or I’d drive back and get Jeremy.”

“Oh, dear,” the older woman said. “What happened?”

“He had a car accident,” Hannah said, realizing she never had gotten all of the details. “He cracked some ribs and hit his head.”

“I’ll be right there,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “I’ll bring some of my herbal teas, too. One of them is good for headaches.”

“And stay for lunch if you’d like,” Hannah said.

The older woman sounded delighted and offered to bring the salad she’d planned to make for herself. “I doubt your dad has much food at his place,” she added. “I know how ranchers are at harvest time.”

“I better check,” Hannah said as she stretched the phone cord so she could step over to the refrigerator and open it.

“You’re right,” Hannah said after she surveyed the few items it held. “But I see a big block of cheese and I know he has some kind of pasta. There’s milk and some spices, too. I already planned to make macaroni and cheese. Jeremy’s favorite. With the salad, it’ll be perfect.”

“I’ll stop by the café and get a few of their dinner rolls,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “I haven’t done my usual baking this week or I’d have some of my own to bring.”

“Tell Lois I’ll pay for them when I come in tomorrow,” Hannah said. “Although I have to say that, from what I remember, your rolls are better. The café buys its bread.”

Mrs. Hargrove gave a pleased laugh. “Jeremy and I will be there as soon as we can. Charley is up visiting one of his cousins today so we’re free as can be.”

Mrs. Hargrove had married her good friend, Charley Nelson, when Hannah was a freshman in high school. Charley was Mark’s father’s cousin. The bride and groom had both been in their late sixties when they walked down the aisle, but Hannah loved the story of their courtship. She had wondered back then if she and Mark would ever be as much in love as the two of them. She was especially touched because Mrs. Hargrove announced she would be keeping the name she’d gone by for decades because she didn’t want to confuse the children of the town.

As Hannah hung up the phone, she wondered if she would ever have a romance like the one Mrs. Hargrove had. The older woman assured her it was possible if Hannah didn’t give up on love. At the time she had promised Mrs. Hargrove that she wouldn’t. Of course, neither one of them knew what was going to happen. Mark’s coma had changed so many of Hannah’s hopes.