Читать книгу Once a Father - Kathleen Eagle, Kathleen Eagle - Страница 8

“Mother, what are you doing?” Mary hurried to Audrey Tutan’s side and reached for the handle on the old ice cream freezer her mother had just carried upstairs. “This comes under the heading of heavy lifting, which is against the doctor’s orders.” It was the metal canister and hand crank inside the bucket that made the old turquoise contraption so heavy, and the steep stairway made the heavy lifting potentially fatal. Mary eased the load from her mother’s hand, pulled the string dangling from the bare lightbulb and shut the door against the darkness.

“I thought we were taking some time off from orders,” Mother said after catching a couple of breaths. “Besides, that isn’t so heavy, and your father has a sudden urge for homemade ice cream.”

“If we aren’t taking orders that includes everybody’s orders.” Mary lifted a warning finger. “Except your doctor’s. I took notes, so don’t even think about pushing your limit, which is a package of marshmallows. Did he tell you to make ice cream?”

“No, no, he just mentioned it. He remembers how you used to go crazy over homemade ice cream after you discovered Grandma’s old ice cream freezer down in the basement. Haven’t used it since you left home.”

“They make electric…” Mary unloaded the 1960s dinosaur on the same vintage kitchen table and brushed her hands together. “You don’t mean you’ve been rummaging around in the basement.”

“Didn’t have to. I knew right where it was. Beside, it’s nice and cool down there. On the way back up the temperature seemed to rise five degrees for each step. I thought I’d make strawberry.”

Mary eyed the old clunker. She hardly remembered Grandma, who had died when she was eight and was fondly remembered, especially for all the unwritten recipes she’d handed down to her daughter. Clearly Mother clung to some hope for her own daughter. Into your hands I commend the mighty ice cream freezer. She took the top off the metal canister and checked for debris. There was only the paddle she’d cleaned of ice cream more than once with her eager young tongue.

She’d use soap and water this time.

“They make smaller ones, too,” Mary said absently as her mother took a large kettle from the cabinet above the stove. “Did he really say all that? Let’s have homemade ice cream for Mary? “

“I know how he thinks.”

Mary kept her doubts on that score to herself. Audrey Tutan had become a recluse since her children had left home. She’d always been a mind reader as far as Mary was concerned, but she’d been as protective of the cache in her daughter’s head as she was of her own. The only tales she ever told were meant to promote peace in the Tutan household. What she could see inside her husband’s head was anybody’s guess. Steadfast and quiet, Mary’s mother had always stood by her man. Just this once, could she step away and be with Mary?

Don’t bring him into our conversation, Mother. Let me have your ear. Let me give you mine.

“How’s Sally?” Audrey asked as she opened the refrigerator door.

“Sally Drexler has met her match. I’ve never seen her this happy.”

“I’ve met him. He seems like a nice man, but does he.” Audrey turned, milk jug in hand. “Well, realistically, how’s her health?”

“Realistically, multiple sclerosis is incurable, Mother.” Don’t hang your head, Mother. It’s just you and me. Mary checked the contents of the sugar canister before setting it within Audrey’s reach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You were just asking.”

Audrey wasn’t ready for the sugar, but she laid her hand over the canister lid anyway. Mary touched the hand that once fed her, felt Mother’s gratitude through cool, tissue-paper skin. The feel of fragility shook her to the core. Word from afar that her mother was in the hospital hadn’t surprised her. She knew her duty. She took the leave, took the journey, took her place at her mother’s side, and then, finally, it hit her. Her mother was mortal.

“She had her cane close at hand,” Mary went on, “but she’s full of Sally spunk. All excited about the competition they’re running to get more people interested in wild horses. You enter up, you get to pick a horse and train it for whatever you want and show it at the end of the contest. Big cash prize for the winners. Winner. Whatever.”

Mary opened a cupboard and took out measuring cups. She pulled a ring full of spoons from a reliable drawer. Mother’s helper was a familiar role. Knowing the drill made for a comfortable segue from what they both knew to what one of them wanted to say and needed the other to hear. They could take turns. There was so much, and it was confusing and even if there were no answers it seemed as though the questions should be voiced.

What’s going on with our bodies, Mother? You don’t know? If you don’t know, who does?

Disorder, that’s what. One wonky part throws the whole system off, right? One misstep causes temporary tailspin. Take a deep breath and wait for the spinning to stop. Take the time to get everything in line. What Mary liked best about the army was order. Clarity. Why couldn’t she bring the clarity home with her?

Home? What was that?

Start with something simple, Mary.

She leaned her hip against the edge of the counter. “I want to try it.”

“Training a horse?” Audrey turned the burner on under the milk. “How long does that take?”

“You get ninety days.”

“You mean.” Breathless pause. “.you’re not going back?”

Was that hope or fear? It was hard to tell with Mother. Either way, Mary knew the feeling, and it was damn prickly. She lifted one shoulder. “I’d have a training partner.”

“What are you talking about, girl?” Both women turned in the direction of the voice. “That dog food farm down the road?”

Speaking of prickly. Dan Tutan either stormed into a room or appeared out of nowhere. Either way, he enjoyed taking people off guard. He would have made a hell of a c.o., Mary thought. George Armstrong Tutan.

“I was talking to Mother.”

“And I was joking with you, Daughter.” Father’s smile never touched his eyes. “I know the Drexler girls are your friends. I don’t much like what they’re doing over there, but since they’re my girl’s friends, they can raise all the dog food they want. I’ll even borrow ‘em my sausage grinder when it comes time to butcher.” He raised an instructive finger. “That was another joke.”

“Of course.” Who would have guessed?

He moved in close enough to get a peek into the kettle. Audrey stepped to one side, stirring, stirring, stirring. Mary held her ground.

“You’re not making vanilla, are you?”

“Strawberry,” Audrey said.

“Good.” He glanced at Mary as he turned away from the stove. “Why didn’t you bring one of your dogs with you? Show me some of their tricks.”

“They’re working dogs.”

“The army doesn’t give them any leave time?” Her father chuckled.

“She sent us a wonderful training video,” Audrey said as she tested the milk with her finger. “She’s in it, working with the smartest dog I’ve ever seen.” She flipped the burner off, glancing at Mary as she moved the kettle. “I watched it on the computer. He doesn’t like computers.” “They don’t like me.”

“We should all watch it together,” Audrey suggested. “Mary can tell us more than what they say on the video. I mean, more about what she actually does and how those dogs…” She rummaged in the refrigerator and backed out with eggs and cream. “We could have our ice cream while we watch, and I could pop some—”

“They’re trying to take over that whole area west of the highway,” Dan said, never one to let a bad joke go to waste. “All that Indian land I’ve been leasing over there.”

“It’s mostly badlands, isn’t it?” Mary said. Part of her wanted to fall back and ignore his remarks, but the rest of her wanted to take a position and push back.

“Hell, no. There’s a lot of grass out there, and the Tribe wants to turn it over to those girls and their welfare program for horses.”

“You hardly use that land. It’s as wild as those horses are.”

“That’s how much you know about cattle ranching. What’s gonna happen to this place after I’m gone? Between you and your brother….” He drew a deep breath and blew out heated disgust. “You work your whole life to build something solid, and you want to be able to put your name on it and hand it over to heirs who know how to carry on. Born ranchers. Tutan heirs.”

“Sounds like a group of backup singers,” Mary quipped. “The Tutanaires.”

“I could sure use some backup for a change. When it comes down to it—and sooner or later it will, between their horses and our cows—we’ll see who’s a Tutan heir. Between you and your brother.”

“You already said that. How long has it been since you heard from my brother?”

Silence. Her older brother had left home as soon as he’d finished high school. Mary admired him for putting himself through college and getting involved with the Forest Service in the Pacific Northwest. Sadly, she and Tom had allowed distance and the passage of time to get the better of their relationship.

“He called me on Mother’s Day,” Audrey said. “He and Adrienne are fine.”

“Good to know,” Mary said. “If he ever changes his mind about South Dakota, he’s welcome to the place as far as I’m concerned.”

“He has to change his mind about me first. Owes me—” Dan made a dismissive gesture “—an apology, to start with. After that, he owes me the two thousand dollars I loaned him to get himself a car.”

“That was for college, Father. The car was—”

“The car was a piece of crap, but he knew how to keep it running, and he didn’t learn that from any college. Or anything else useful. What’s he doing up there in tree hugger country, for God’s sake? Tell you what, until he meets those two conditions and maybe one or two more, he gets nothing. I’ve written him off.”

“Mother can always write him back in after you’re gone.” Mary smiled to herself as she watched her mother separate eggs and slide the yokes into a bowl of sugar. “That was another joke.”

No one was laughing. He’d never be gone. If ever a man was earthbound, it was Dan Tutan. If there was any justice in the world, Mother would outlive him long enough to sell the ranch and blow the proceeds on herself. But Mary had seen enough of the world to know that justice was hard to come by for too many women, and her mother—stirrer of milk, sugar, eggs, anything but controversy—was one of them. She had been living in her husband’s pumpkin shell too long.

“We’ve got the same kind of humor, Daughter. Nobody else gets it.”

“Including you and me.” Mary folded her arms and watched him walk away. “I wish I could’ve brought one of the dogs with me,” she told her mother quietly. “I miss having one around.”

“I wouldn’t mind having a dog here again. Would you pour the milk in while I stir?” Mother sidled along the counter to give Mary access to the kettle of scalded milk. “Make sure it’s cool enough.”

Mary was no judge of cool. She offered the kettle for her mother’s parchment-skinned finger test.

Mary nodded, stirred, called for a slow pour and smiled. “Even if you’re not doing all the training yourself, Sally’s contest might keep you here a little longer than you’d planned.”

“I’m here to see you, Mother. The last thing I want to do is cause stress, so…” So don’t spill the milk, Mary. You might end up crying over it. Her throat stung a little as she swallowed. Damn hormones. She took a deep, cleansing breath and set the kettle aside. Can we talk, Mother? Can we please, just the two of us? “So you’ll tell me if it gets to be too much, won’t you? Because obviously nothing’s…” Changed? Wrong choice. “Nothing’s more important right now than your health. Getting you back to a hundred and ten percent.”

“Except my hearing.” Audrey’s eyes brightened with a slow smile. “I like to keep that turned down to about fifty. Every other word is plenty.” She nodded toward the refrigerator. “I’ve already mashed up the strawberries. They’re in the—”

“Blue Tupperware box.” Mary laughed. She was glad Mother’s kitchen hadn’t changed.

“The salt is on the front porch, and I have ice in the chest freezer.” Audrey folded strawberries into the rich, custardy mixture. “Remember how we used to go out on the porch on summer evenings, and you and the Drexler girls would take turns cranking until you said your arm was going to fall off?” She raised her brow. “You could call them. Tell them we’re making ice cream. I’ll bet they’d come right over.”

“It’s just us, Mother. I’ll hold the canister, and you pour.”

The porch glider squeaked, the ice rattled between the walls of the turquoise bucket and the silver canister, and two meadowlarks called to each other somewhere in the grass. Summer music, Mary told herself as she turned the crank that spun the canister. What had once been a chore now felt like a warm-up for a welcome workout. She’d gone for a run early that morning, but she missed the gym. She wasn’t going to give up exercising no matter what. Her face was no prize, but she had a damn good body, and that wasn’t going away.

She switched arms. The more resistance, the better the results.

“What the hell is goin’ on?”

Stop the music. Here comes Damn Tootin'. He was waving a piece of paper in one hand, an envelope in the other.

“I just got a notice from the Bureau of Land Management, says I can’t run cattle in the hills west of Coyote Creek. Says they’re designating that area for wildlife. Designating for waste is what that means.”

Mary flexed her fingers and stepped back from the ice cream freezer, which she’d set on a stool. “It’s so isolated, Father. Why can’t you just let it go?”

“You give ‘em an inch, they take a mile. Once they start telling you how to run your business they don’t stop.”

The glider started squeaking again, albeit tentatively. Audrey’s gaze had drifted to the cottonwoods and the Russian olives that formed the windbreak on the north side of the yard. Mary could have followed her mother’s lead.

But she didn’t.

“Who’s they?“

“People who don’t know what it takes to make a living off this land. They should just stay out of it. Take their damn programs and their so-called endangered.” He slapped the envelope against the letter. “There’s horses all over this country. Endangered my—” face red, jaw set, he swung his leg up, set the sole of his boot against the edge of the stool and gave a raging shove “—ass!”

Everything flew across the porch—stool, bucket, ice, salt water, canister, pink and white slush.

Mary gaped in horror. “You broke it. Grandma’s ice cream—”

“It’s not broken,” Audrey said, seemingly unruffled. Mary questioned her mother’s cool with a look. “I can fix it,” Audrey assured her, just as she had the time her father had backed over her tricycle with his little Ford tractor. “Don’t worry. I can make more.”

“Who the hell is this now?” Dan scowled up the mile-long dirt road that connected the ranch gate with the gravel driveway. A blue pickup pulling a two-horse trailer rumbled in their direction. Three pairs of eyes watched until the vehicle was parked and the driver emerged.

Mary felt a funny little flutter in her chest.

“It’s that damn Indian off the Tribal Council. He’s the one got them to take my lease land for those mustangs. Dog Track or some damn—”

“Shut up, Dad.”

“What?” It was his turn to be horrified. “What did you say to me?”

“You heard me. Do you want to lose the rest of your leases?” She tuned in to the sound of the visitor’s footsteps, but she held her father’s full attention with a cold glare.

“Looks like somebody spilled her milk.”

“It was going to be ice cream.” Mentally Mary switched the light off in one room and turned it on in another as Logan mounted the porch steps. “Mother, have you met Logan Wolf Track? Logan, Audrey, my mother. You know my father.” Logan glanced at her on the way to shaking her mother’s hand, and she reminded him, “You know who he is.” With her boots covered in what would have been strawberry ice cream, she didn’t feel like saying the name.

But Logan acknowledged him with a proffered hand. Then he turned to Mary. “Let’s go pick up our horse.” “Now?”

“You signed us up. Sally says it’s first come, first served. You wanna ride over there with me, or do you have other—”

“What horse?” her father demanded. “You’re not bringing any horses here.”

“I’m sorry, Logan. My father’s a little cranky. He just received some news that didn’t sit well with him. We weren’t going to bring our horse here, anyway.

Were we?”

“Nope.” Logan glanced at the mess and gave a perfunctory smile. “Wild horses are real sensitive.”

“You mean you’re really doing it?” Audrey rose from the glider. “You entered that contest? Are you a horse trainer, Mr. Wolf Track?”

“Among other things,” he said.

“Can you give me a minute to clean this up?” Mary moved to pick up the overturned stool, but Logan was closer, and he beat her to it. She got the bucket.

“You go on, Mary. I’ll just hose off the porch.”

Mary set the bucket on the stool and turned to give the stay signal. “You’re not hauling hose, Mother.”

But Logan was already halfway down the steps. He’d spotted the hose rack, and he was wasting no time. He unlooped the hose, reached over the railing, handed Mary the nozzle and waited for her signal to turn on the water. Her parents watched silently as though they were the visitors. Maybe she and Logan were already a team. Together they made short work of the porch mess.

“Come with us, Mother,” Mary offered after Logan turned off the water. She felt like a teenager about to head out on her first date. “We’re going to pick out our horse.”

“Oh, no.” Audrey glanced at Dan, who scowled back at her. She smiled. Actually smiled. “I have so much to do. I’m still going to make ice cream if anyone’s interested.”

“Damn right somebody’s interested,” Dan grumbled.

“We can do that when I come back. You don’t need to be cranking.” Mary danced down the porch steps and met Logan at the bottom. “Do you like homemade ice cream?”

“I didn’t know it came homemade.”

“Give me a ride round trip, and I’ll treat you to a taste of heaven.” He looked at her as though her head had just turned into a hot fudge sundae. “I’m not kidding,” she said. “You’ll never go back to the ordinary stuff in a box.”

“Haven’t even gotten much of that lately.” She choked back a laugh as he nodded toward his pickup. “Round trip it is.”

She was an interesting woman, all right. Becoming more interesting by the minute. Logan hadn’t been around too many women when he was in the army. Just his luck. He could’ve used a lot more training in that department right about that time in his life. He’d been a skilled hunter and a Golden Gloves champion boxer when he’d enlisted, but he hadn’t known jack about women. He’d learned the hard way by getting married and turning in his combat boots without giving either move much thought. He’d been that hungry, and Tonya had been that hot.

So here’s this woman offering him ice cream, and his face catches fire. Homemade, she says. What was that supposed to mean?

He was too old to play games. What was that old saying? Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice.

He had a history of taking a flirt too seriously.

He’d gone for the hose. He knew what he was doing. Tonya had been older and wiser—well, smarter—and she’d been there and gone before he’d known what hit him. A lot of water had flowed under his bridge since then, and he knew how to stay cool. Water was the remedy for hot blood. Sweat, tears, time and the river flowing.

And homemade ice cream was probably just something farmers whipped up when they didn’t want to spring for the real thing.

They’d reached the highway, and he was thinking about filling the deafening silence with some country music.

“He never changes.”

Her voice startled him. It sounded small—like her mother’s, but not worn down. Mary’s was more like humiliated. The kid whose father wouldn’t quit yelling at the ref. Logan had never actually had a conversation with the man, but Tutan was the kind who made sure everyone knew who he was and acted like they should care. He couldn’t get it through his head that non-Indian ranchers didn’t call the shots on Indian land. Not anymore. So he’d come before the Council and made a few demands, most recently for reinstatement of the leases he’d lost to the Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary. The Council had given him due consideration—time to tell his side.

He’d leased that land when nobody else wanted it.

Logan would give him that. He’d been there first. Logan had laughed out loud.

The Tribe owed him.

Logan had called the question and moved to reaffirm the decision to lease the area known as Coyote Hills to the Drexlers and to honor their nonprofit status with a special rate.

While the voice of a daughter embarrassed by her father’s behavior tore at Logan’s gut, he couldn’t judge another man on that score. He wasn’t in the habit of commenting on other people’s troubles, anyway, so he said nothing and hoped she’d drop the topic altogether. He was interested in her, not her family, even though they had little in common except a horse.

“I worry about my mother.”

Even worse. Worrisome mother trumped embarrassing father. And from the look of the three Tutans and the mess on their porch, Mary’s worries were well-founded. If it was any of Logan’s business, he’d be worried about Mrs. Tutan, too. Fortunately, his interest didn’t extend to Mary’s mother.

“He’s gonna kill her.”

Aw, jeez. “Let’s go back and get her.”

“She won’t leave him. I’ve tried to.” His foot on the brake changed her tune. “I don’t mean he’s going to kill her. I mean he’s going to be the death of her.” She met his glance with an apologetic smile. “I did say kill, didn’t I.”

“You did.”

“He doesn’t…no. Not literally.” She gave a humorless chuckle. “Not physically.”

He moved his foot to the accelerator.

“She says she just had a small heart attack,” Mary said. “What’s a small heart attack? She was only in the hospital for two days, but that doesn’t mean anything these days. Especially when her husband’s big concern is when are they gonna let her out? So that’s the only reason I came home. The main reason.”

Casting about for a cheerful observation, he smiled at the road ahead. “Now you have a project on the side.”

“Good way to keep busy while I’m here.” “Good way to show your father what you’re made of.”

“I know exactly what I’m made of, and that’s all that counts. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

“How many tours?”

“In the Middle East? Two.”

He acknowledged her dedication with a raised brow. He’d spent time in the Sandbox, but it had been more than twenty years ago. It had to be tougher these days. It just went on and on, tour after tour for a lot of guys, no end in sight.

A lot of guys?

“I don’t mind,” she was saying. “I love my work.”

“What kind of dogs do you train?”

“All kinds. Trackers, sniffers, sentries. Lately I’ve been coaching Iraqi dog handlers, helping them build their own canine units.” She angled her knees in his direction. He’d hit her sweet spot. “I couldn’t have a horse when I was growing up, but we had cattle dogs. I learned a lot from them.”

That sounded promising. “And you rode Sally’s horses.”

“As often as I could.”

He nodded. “It’s been a while since I had a dog. My sons always had at least one dog around, sometimes one each.”

“How many children do you have?” She sounded a little tentative. Disappointed, maybe. She hadn’t figured on kids.

“They’re not children.” If that helps any. “Trace and Ethan are in their twenties.”

“You don’t look old enough to have kids that age. You must’ve started young.”

“As young as I could.” He flashed her a wry smile. “I married a family. The boys were half-grown, and I was half-kid. Well, maybe not half, but it was a good mix to start with. We had some good times together.” He lifted one shoulder. “We’re all on our own now. Full-grown. Divorced. Footloose and…what’s the other thing?”

“Fancy free,” she quipped, joining him in some irony of her own. “Where is everybody?”

“No idea where their mother is. She cut out early. Left the boys with me.”

“What about their father?” She sounded suitably indignant on her new partner’s behalf. Logan appreciated loyalty.

It was almost a shame he had to set her straight. Try to, anyway.

“I’m their father. I adopted them, gave them my name. They both go by Wolf Track. Their mother left a picture of her, uh…one of the men. Ethan tried to look him up, but I don’t think he got anywhere. The other one…” He glanced at her as he turned onto the gravel approach to the Double D. He’d already said more than he usually did, but the look in her eyes invited more. And, what the hell… “Who knows? She never talked about her past. One of those livin'-in-the-moment people. I liked that about her right up until she was here one moment and gone the next.” “She just…left?”

“Yep. Said she’d come back for the boys and never did.”

She didn’t look too shocked. Didn’t look pitying or superior, wasn’t taking him for a saint or a sucker. Maybe she was just taking him for the way he was.

“That must’ve been hard,” she said. “Never knowing what was going to happen if she came back.”

“She wasn’t taking those boys, no matter what. Not after…” He smiled as he parked the pickup next to a paddock holding a handful of horses. “You’re good at stealing bases, you know that? I never answer questions on the first date.”

“This is hardly a date.”

“That’s right.” He cocked his finger and gave her a wink. “I picked you up.”

The man winked at her. Winked. All right, it was kind of cute, but what was he thinking? Mary hadn’t been winked at since…never? She didn’t remember anybody winking at her. It made her feel downright giddy. Of course, she’d hidden it.

Well, except for a little smile.

Hoolie Hoolihan emerged from the bunkhouse and ambled across the graveled quad that was surrounded by outbuildings and corrals. Hoolie was a true cowboy—unchanging, ageless, loyal as an old soldier. As far as Mary knew, he’d always been part of Double D. He greeted her with a proper pull on the brim of his cowboy hat before shaking Logan’s hand, tucking thumbs in his belt and commenting on the need for some rain. The visitors chimed in as they drifted toward the corral. As though they’d been cued, the horses suddenly took to the far corner like a flight of butterflies.

“Sally’s pretty pleased with herself, gettin’ you two partnered up,” Hoolie said as he hiked one boot up to the bottom fence rail. “Which one are you taking?”

“We’re going with Mary’s first instinct. Taking the claybank.” Logan glanced at his partner. “Right?”

“He’s beautiful,” Mary said, basking in his approval.

“That one’s all mustang,” Hoolie said. “No plow-horse blood in those legs.”

Logan smiled. “That’s the way we like ‘em.” At the moment, he only had eyes for the horses.

“I’ve got your book,” Hoolie said.

Logan spared him an appreciative grin. “So you’re the one.”

“The Indian way of training horses takes a lotta time, seems like.”

“I’ve been doing it all my life,” Logan quipped. “You think you can have the horse ready in just—”

“Oh, yeah.” Logan smiled, still watching the horses. “I don’t know if I can have Sergeant Tutan ready, but the horse is not a problem.”

“Are you taking him to your place?” Mary asked.

“First thing, I’m taking him back to his place. You can come if you want. Otherwise I can drop you off.”

“His place?”

“He’s a wild horse. His place is wild. That’s where we start.” Logan turned to Hoolie. “Can you help me cut him out?”

“I’ll be the gate man.”

Hoolie headed for the barn. Mary followed Logan around the front of his pickup to the empty horse trailer.

“Where are we starting?” she asked as she watched him open the tack door and reach inside for a coiled hard-twist rope. “I’m going, but I’m just curious.”

“His place.” He slid the bolt on the tack door and slid Mary a playful smile. “You like camping?”

She laughed. “I’m a soldier. Camp is my place.”