Dry Creek Daddy
Janet Tronstad
He never knew he had a son…Four years ago, an accident put Mark Nelson into a coma—before Hannah Stelling could tell him she was pregnant with their child. Now she’s back in town, and Mark’s recovered.But even before his injury, Hannah felt Mark’s ambitions pulling him away. While Hannah knows their little boy needs his father, can she trust Mark with her son’s heart…and hers?
He never knew he had a son…
Reawakening lost love in Dry Creek
Four years ago, an accident put Mark Nelson into a coma—before Hannah Stelling could tell him she was pregnant with their child. Now she’s back in town, and Mark’s recovered. But even before his injury, Hannah felt Mark’s ambitions pulling him away. While Hannah knows their little boy needs his father, can she trust Mark with her son’s heart…and hers?
JANET TRONSTAD grew up on her family’s farm in central Montana and now lives in Turlock, California, where she is always at work on her next book. She has written more than thirty books, many of them set in the fictitious town of Dry Creek, Montana, where the men spend the winters gathered around the potbellied stove in the hardware store and the women make jelly in the fall.
Also By Janet Tronstad (#ulink_8cb8ce32-940f-5882-b122-6016aa68cc44)
Love Inspired
Dry Creek
Dry Creek Sweethearts
A Dry Creek Courtship
Snowbound in Dry Creek
Small-Town Brides
“A Dry Creek Wedding”
Silent Night in Dry Creek
Wife Wanted in Dry Creek
Small-Town Moms
“A Dry Creek Family”
Easter in Dry Creek
Dry Creek Daddy
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dry Creek Daddy
Janet Tronstad
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08592-2
DRY CREEK DADDY
© 2018 Janet Tronstad
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
“I know about Jeremy—our son.”
Mark had learned about Jeremy’s existence only a few months ago.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said softly.
“Don’t be. I’m glad to be a father. Very glad. I’m anxious to meet Jeremy.”
He didn’t want to pressure Hannah, but he could hardly wait to see the boy.
“He’s a good boy. He’ll want to know you, but I have a lot to talk to him about before I do anything to unsettle him.”
“Of course.” He didn’t want to cause his son any distress. Then a suspicion came to him. “Does Jeremy even know about me?”
“He’s never asked. I read a book by this doctor who recommended waiting until a child asks about a missing parent—especially if...”
“You thought I was going to die.”
Hannah flushed guiltily. “I prayed you wouldn’t.”
“And I didn’t,” Mark said, clipping the words. Everyone else had thought that he was going to die; he didn’t know why Hannah should have believed otherwise. It still felt like a betrayal, though.
Dear Reader (#u2c88dd81-83c0-5bf4-9b0a-8c4774282058),
I am delighted you picked up this book to read. I love telling stories set in my small fictitious town of Dry Creek, Montana, and am delighted when readers like you choose to share the adventure with me. Over the years, the themes of my Dry Creek books have varied, but this is the first one that has fatherhood front and center. Being a parent probably changes everyone who takes the role seriously. In Dry Creek Daddy, Mark Nelson has the added challenge of having been in a coma for the first few years of his son’s life. His young son isn’t even sure he wants a father.
I like to hear from my readers and, if you’d like to contact me after reading the book, I would be very pleased. You may email me through my website at www.janettronstad.com (http://www.janettronstad.com).
May you be blessed with all good things.
Sincerely,
Janet Tronstad
Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.
—James 5:16
This book is dedicated with gratitude to those who make possible the many libraries in the places where I have lived—the latest being the women who staff the small volunteer library at the Covenant Retirement Village in Turlock, California. Their work brightens my days. Thanks to Jan A., Marge P. and Alice M.
Contents
Cover (#u0822e3a5-13b6-53e1-a6df-8ab99f151ca6)
Back Cover Text (#u095e5dde-ffc6-5008-a9c1-3464799db69a)
About the Author (#ucc8cc8fd-c3e4-5e39-960e-f008390fefe1)
Booklist (#ulink_8b3247d4-8ec2-5bde-9d05-84ec4f8201e4)
Title Page (#uc608bc3c-a145-56ab-a7c4-5a0ab2c1cf0b)
Copyright (#u60800b76-7e03-5e7d-8b7d-f0826c3844c2)
Introduction (#u4db7e794-b3c0-5fce-83af-84afdf539015)
Dear Reader (#u42c60d1a-fe16-534c-b8b3-81e3bcc16cdb)
Bible Verse (#u182968d0-0439-5d1e-b8f3-5615949ee8d9)
Dedication (#u6d9852ba-27da-5b17-8af8-18f8e23ea11b)
Chapter One (#u0b91338e-9563-5191-89c5-680d9190e826)
Chapter Two (#uf7230d6d-763a-57d9-b442-017770dcf473)
Chapter Three (#u177731e8-33ab-5f0d-8a3e-67e8e8ca1c70)
Chapter Four (#u0e25c9b4-b833-5e98-b3ba-e51877afc6c6)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u2c88dd81-83c0-5bf4-9b0a-8c4774282058)
The sky was still dark when Mark Nelson pulled his pickup to a stop in front of the café, the only place in the small town of Dry Creek, Montana, that was usually open this early. The eatery’s door was shut, but before he could switch his engine off, a woman slipped a delicate hand around the blind covering the café’s large window and flipped the Closed sign to Open. His headlights were on and Mark saw a woman’s profile and thought he recognized the hand. He wasn’t fast enough to get a good look at the ring finger before the hand was withdrawn, but he told himself it had to be bare. He hadn’t seen Hannah Stelling in four years—not since they’d been high school sweethearts—but surely someone would have told him if she had become engaged.
Mark shut off the engine and stepped out of his cab. The gravel under his boots crunched as he walked to the café and climbed the steps.
The one fact he didn’t need anyone to tell him was that Hannah did not want to see him. He wasn’t sure why she had moved back to Dry Creek and taken a job at the café, but a dozen Return to Sender letters told him that it wasn’t because she missed him.
He paused briefly before turning the knob and opening the weathered door in front of him. The overhead light was bright inside the café and Mark involuntarily blinked. He heard the sound of a metal fork hitting the linoleum floor before his eyes adjusted and he saw Hannah staring at him across the empty room. She wore a red T-shirt and denim jeans. Her face was drawn, her auburn hair pulled back in a long ponytail.
“You.” That was all she said, but her voice was stretched so tight it almost vibrated.
He recognized the look on her face. It was the same one she’d had over a decade ago when she appeared for the first time in the open door of his fourth-grade classroom. She’d been ten years old and had just been adopted by the Stellings. Her hair, a ragged copper cap, looked like she’d hacked at it with a kitchen knife, and maybe she had. No one was with her that day; Mr. Stelling had dropped her off and then left her to make her own way into the school. Hannah’s stance in the doorway was defiant. Her jeans had a few worn places and her shoes were scuffed. The other kids were afraid to even smile at her. But looking into her eyes, Mark knew she was scared.
Since then, he must have lost the ability to read her eyes, because he could not tell how she was feeling now. Everything was silent as they stood there in the main room of the café. He heard the sounds of someone in the kitchen shoving pots around, and a radio started up on a station that must be the news. The half-dozen tables in front of him were covered with red-and-white-checked cloths, and everything looked ready for customers.
“Of course it’s me,” Mark finally said, not sure what else to do. Maybe Hannah just needed time to adjust. He surveyed every inch of her pixie face, searching for the subtle differences one would expect after a four-year absence. Her skin was ivory. Her bones delicate. Her hazel eyes so filled with shadows that they could have been black. She was twenty-one years old now, but looked the same as he remembered her at seventeen. He was only a few months older than her but it felt like he’d aged a dozen years since he’d seen her last.
He saw her lips move, but it took a few seconds for her question about whether he knew her to register with him.
“Of course, I know you.” Mark was stunned she would think he could possibly forget her. He understood people were nervous around him because he’d been lying in a hospital bed in a coma for a little over four years. Everyone had been expecting him to die, but he’d held on and then he’d woken up. Some of his memory had been slow to return, but he’d always known Hannah. She had been his best friend ever since she had stood in that classroom door.
They both seemed like different people today, though. Back then, the two of them hid nothing from each other. Given the way she was staring impassively at him, he figured that had all changed.
“I’m completely recovered,” Mark said and then paused. “Well, almost.”
He had to admit that he didn’t remember everything about the gun incident that had lodged a bullet in his brain and put him in the unconscious state, but he was fine. He certainly wasn’t going to worry her about the gaps in his memory.
“Ninety-eight percent, at least,” he added.
Hannah didn’t seem convinced. She was studying him. “Then what’s wrong? You had that look in your eyes when you came in—like you had something to say.”
Mark winced. He had forgotten how well she could read him. “It’s your father.”
“You’ve seen him?” Hannah’s face went blank for a moment. Then her cheeks turned pink with what looked like alarm. It was the most animated she’d been since Mark had stepped into the room. His heart sank. She could clearly be moved to concern, just not for him.
“I came from Miles City a few minutes ago and saw your father’s pickup sitting beside the freeway,” Mark said, telling himself to focus on the details. Hannah would want to know it all. “He had an accident about a mile out. I came along as the ambulance was loading him up.” Mark had gone to the florist shop in Miles City and bought a long-stemmed rose for Hannah’s first day on the job. “I was worried when I saw him.”
“But that can’t be right.” Hannah shook her head as though her hearing was faulty.
“It was him,” Mark said. She’d never questioned him before. Maybe she just didn’t believe he was mentally able to tell her what had happened.
“I just can’t believe it,” Hannah said. “I only got back to Dry Creek last night, but he was out in the field behind the barn this morning when I left. I didn’t have time to go out and talk to him then because I didn’t want to be late for work and I had to take Jeremy to—” Hannah stopped abruptly.
She swallowed. Finally she was focused on Mark, but her stricken expression gave him no comfort. Her defenses were still there. He wanted her to be his sweetheart again, but she obviously did not want the same.
“I took Jeremy to Mrs. Hargrove’s,” she said, finishing her sentence and then gathering herself together before adding, “You remember the older woman who teaches Sunday school here?”
Mark watched a new, deeper blush climb up Hannah’s neck and flood her cheeks with color. For the first time today, she looked vulnerable. Then she turned away from him.
“Of course I remember her,” Mark said, trying to keep his voice even. “I grew up here, too.” He paused. “And I know about Jeremy—our son.”
He felt a hitch in his breath when he spoke of the boy. He had learned about Jeremy’s existence only a few months ago. That’s why he had been frantically writing Hannah those letters—the ones that had all come back to him unopened.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said softly and then looked away.
“Don’t be.” He reached out a hand to her. Her defenses were down and all he wanted to do was comfort her.
She took a step back from him. “I’m fine now.”
“Of course you are.” He withdrew his hand.
The biggest and best news he’d had when recovering from the coma had been that he and Hannah had a baby. Jeremy was four years old now. For months, Mark’s sister and father had postponed telling him about the child since the doctors had said not to upset Mark. “I’m glad to be a father. Very glad. I’m anxious to meet Jeremy.”
He didn’t want to pressure Hannah, but he could hardly wait to see the boy.
She finally met his eyes.
“He’s a good boy,” Hannah said, her voice gentle. She smiled for the first time. “He’ll want to know you, but I have a lot to talk to him about before I do anything to unsettle him.”
“Of course.” Mark bit back a retort. He didn’t want to cause his son any distress. Hannah should know that already. But he supposed he could not just show up and expect everything to be smooth. Then a suspicion came to him. “Does Jeremy even know about me?”
“He’s never asked.” Hannah gave him an apologetic look. “I read a book by this doctor who recommended waiting until a child asks about a missing parent—especially if...”
It was silent for a moment and then Mark realized what had happened. “You thought I was going to die.”
Hannah flushed guiltily. “I prayed you wouldn’t.”
“And I didn’t,” Mark said, clipping the words. He knew he was being unreasonable. Everyone else had thought that he was going to die; he didn’t know why Hannah should have believed otherwise. It still felt like a betrayal, though.
Hannah was silent a moment and then she said, “I think you must be mistaken about my father. There are a lot of white pickups that look like his. About the only thing he said to me last night was that he was going to get the last of the wheat crop in today before the rain came. I know he was doing that this morning because he had on the same pair of overalls he’s worn for years when harvesting. So, no,” she said, looking at Mark with resolve. “He wouldn’t have been going to Miles City.”
Mark didn’t know what Mr. Stelling had meant when he’d told Hannah he’d be getting in the last of the crop. Mark passed the older man’s fields almost daily. Mr. Stelling hadn’t started yet and everyone else in Dry Creek had finished their harvesting.
It was the coma, Mark thought. People, and apparently Hannah was one of them, worried that it turned a person forgetful about the things that were happening in the present. But it didn’t. He might not remember every little thing from before the coma, but he knew what he’d seen this morning.
“Maybe your dad needed to go for a new part for the combine,” Mark replied calmly. He knew Hannah had mixed feelings about her adoptive father, but Mark always felt she secretly longed to be able to turn to the man like a daughter would, even if he was one of the most difficult men Mark knew. “He was wearing that old gray plaid shirt of his, along with those overalls. The shirt had a hole in the sleeve.”
Hannah’s eyes went wide.
“That’s right,” she whispered. “Mom bought that shirt for him before she died. He always wore it when he did the harvesting. And he had torn it the last year I was here. He never fixed it.”
Hannah’s auburn lashes were long and made her dark hazel eyes look striking. They were her most beautiful feature. But then, in high school he had declared her kneecaps to be works of art when he realized one day how pretty they were. It had made her giggle. Which had made him kiss her. Which had made her so breathless she started to hiccup. Which had made them both laugh. Mark wished they were back in that time.
“My father hasn’t called,” she interrupted his thoughts, bringing them back to the present. “He knows I’m working at the café this morning. He’d call if he had trouble.”
Mark didn’t have time to answer before he heard the door open that led into the room from the kitchen. Lois Wagner, the other waitress who worked in the café, walked out to the area where he and Hannah stood.
“Here we go,” Lois said in a pleasant voice as she held out a white butcher-style apron. She wore a red sleeveless blouse instead of a red T-shirt like Hannah did, but the middle-aged woman’s jeans were just as well worn as Hannah’s. Mark had gotten to know Lois in the past few weeks and he gave her a brief smile as she nodded to him. She was the one who had told him Hannah would be starting her new job today.
“The newest piece of our unofficial uniform,” Lois said as she focused on Hannah again.
Hannah took the apron, but did not reach to put it on over her head. “My father just had a traffic accident.” She spoke to Lois and then turned to Mark. “He wasn’t hurt bad, was he?”
“I didn’t see the other car, but it looked like a fender bender from what I could see,” Mark answered. “We could contact the hospital. If he’s unconscious, he can’t call anyone.”
“Oh,” Hannah exclaimed, sounding even more worried as she laid the apron over a nearby chair.
“He probably only has a bruise or two,” Mark said, wishing he hadn’t said anything about the man being unconscious.
“If you want to go to the hospital, you should,” Lois said as she put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “I usually do the early shift by myself anyway, and Linda will be in at ten o’clock to help with the noon rush.”
Linda Enger was the café owner. The staff at the café always said they couldn’t ask for a sweeter boss.
Hannah turned to the other waitress, looking relieved. “You’re sure it’s all right? I don’t want to leave you shorthanded. I need this job and it’s only my first day.”
“Don’t worry,” Lois said. “We might not get many people anyway since it looks like rain. It truly is okay. You can start tomorrow morning instead.”
“I will check on him, then,” Hannah said. “Just to be sure everything is okay.”
“I’ll drive you,” Mark offered.
Hannah looked like she’d protest, but Lois spoke. “Let him, honey. I doubt you even know how to get to the hospital.”
“No, I don’t,” Hannah said, sounding startled at the realization. “I know how to get almost everywhere in the county, but I never drove there. My father always did the driving when my mother was there.”
Mark wasn’t surprised that Hannah had never been in the hospital because of any need of her own. She’d had no issues except, of course, her pregnancy. She must have been in a hospital then. Mark’s head started to hurt. The two of them needed to talk about the pregnancy. He hadn’t known about the baby when they’d had their last big fight. He’d been in a coma when the baby was born, but he still felt guilty for not being there.
“I’ll let you know how he is,” Hannah said as she walked over to the counter and, reaching behind it, drew out a small black purse with a shoulder strap. Mark thought he remembered it as one she’d had in high school. He was going to ask her about that but then stopped himself.
From the bits and pieces she’d told him long ago, the foster homes and institutions where she’d lived before moving to Dry Creek had seen more than their share of petty thefts. She had not managed to keep much that was her own in those days. After she came to the Stellings, she guarded her possessions carefully. She believed she needed to fight to keep what she had.
She never mentioned it to him, but he saw that she treated the people in her life the same way. If she warmed to a person, she’d stand up for them against everyone else. People were not replaceable in her mind.
No wonder she was still talking to her father, Mark thought. If he didn’t count Jeremy, Mr. Stelling was the only family she had. She wouldn’t give him up unless she absolutely had to.
Mark opened the café door for Hannah and followed her down the steps.
He opened the door of his pickup and held her elbow so she could make the long step up to the floorboard. Long ago, his mother had taught him to be a country gentleman when escorting a girl anywhere in a truck. She said the young lady would appreciate it. Hannah didn’t appear to think much of it, though. In fact, she scowled at him as though he should know better.
He was so dumbfounded that he just stood there a moment. She had never objected to his help. Not even when they’d been fishing and she’d gotten that long wood sliver in the palm of her hand and he had to pull it out with his teeth.
She couldn’t have changed that much. Not unless something really bad had happened. It didn’t take more than a second for him to realize he had been that bad thing. His coma had left her pregnant and alone.
He figured now wasn’t a good time to apologize for letting her down, though. So he walked around the pickup, opened the door and settled himself behind the steering wheel.
In minutes, they were outside town and on their way to Miles City. He couldn’t help but notice Hannah was looking down at the rose lying in the middle of the seat between them. She was frowning at that, too.
“Girlfriend?” she asked.
“Huh?” He was surprised, but managed to keep the pickup on the road. “No. It’s for you. For your first day back home.”
“Oh,” she said. “I thought maybe—”
She stopped and looked out the window.
“What?”
“You were gone so long that I thought maybe you had a girlfriend now. That’s all.”
“I wasn’t gone,” Mark protested. “I was stuck in a coma.”
“Of course, but—” Hannah started, but did not finish.
“I know I was still gone,” Mark answered. He would agree to that.
Mark knew he should say something more, but he didn’t want to give her a glib excuse. There was a time when he’d have been able to string together a convincing argument for his actions without even thinking about it. The bullet that hit his head had reduced his vocabulary to rubble, though. No words came to his mind and then it was too late.
“Nice day,” he finally said.
“How can you say that?” she responded incredulously. “It’s going to rain.”
“I didn’t mean the weather,” Mark said. He wasn’t sure what he had meant, so he kept quiet. It was going to be a long drive into Miles City.
* * *
“This is it?” Hannah knew it was the hospital. That much was obvious. But she needed to say something. She’d been frozen in silence on the trip here, and now they were parked in the building’s lot, just sitting there.
“They’re planning to remodel the place,” Mark said as he reached for his door handle.
Hannah turned to unlatch hers, too, and opened the door before Mark felt he had to come around and do it for her. She knew he was just trying to be nice to her, but she didn’t want him to be polite. She remembered how, as a child, she’d felt like an outsider in Dry Creek, believing the town’s friendliness was only for those who had been born there. But once Mark started coming around to take her fishing, she was content. She hadn’t cared any longer if she didn’t belong. One friend was more than she’d ever thought she’d have in life and she liked him.
But then Mark kissed her. Both sixteen at the time, they were standing in the far field checking to see if there were any chokecherries yet on the wild bushes that grew along the fence. The kiss had been an impulse on his part. She was sure of that. He seemed as shocked as she had been. But while he seemed to take it in stride, she felt like she’d fallen off a cliff. Something inside her shattered. After that, she dreamed of a future with him that she’d never given any thought to before that kiss. Suddenly he wasn’t just her friend; he had become as important to her as the air she breathed. She’d never felt like that with anyone or anything before. No one had ever made her feel as safe.
And then—no sooner than she’d become adjusted to her new hopes—he was gone. Almost dead, everyone said. She hadn’t allowed herself to get that close to any man since.
She’d been writing back and forth to Mrs. Hargrove over the years, and the good woman had encouraged her to trust someone, especially God, with her life. A few months ago, Hannah had decided to do that. But relying on God and trusting Mark were two different things. God did not go into a coma when she needed him most. No, she could not face that cliff again. Not with Jeremy being so very sick. She was all her baby had and she could not worry about anyone else, not even herself.
A long hallway ran along the edge of the building, and Hannah saw that the waiting room was crowded. A line had formed in front of the receptionist’s counter.
She and Mark hurried over and joined the people standing there.
“It’ll be okay,” Mark murmured as they started to move forward slowly.
Hannah ignored his words. That was the way it started. A woman would believe some nonsense from the man in her life. And foolishness it was—no one could know if things were going to be okay or not. Mark should realize that. He couldn’t guarantee anything.
Just then the couple in front of them finished their business and stepped out of line.
“I’m here about Elias Stelling,” Hannah announced to a dark-haired woman behind the receptionist desk. “He was in a car accident out on the freeway about—” Hannah glanced up at Mark. “Would you say forty-five minutes ago?”
Mark nodded.
“Is either of you a relative?” The woman looked up from the paperwork on her desk.
“Well, I’m—” Hannah stumbled and paused.
She had run away from the Stelling place when her pregnancy started to become obvious. Her adoptive mother had died of cancer years before and her father still moved around the house like a disinterested stranger, glaring at Hannah if he noticed her at all. She had curled up in a protective ball when Mark went into his coma. She felt like she was in the emptiness with him, waiting to die. But there was the baby inside her, calling her to live.
After the first wave of grief passed, she knew she had to make some decisions. She was brittle and could break at any time. She refused to stay around someone who was supposed to care about her but didn’t. Leaving the Stelling house was a stubborn decision based on hurt, but she knew it was right for her. She was better off in a home for unwed mothers, where she had no expectations of kindness as she did living with her adoptive father. Besides, she knew how to make it in an institution. No one could disappoint her. She never had gotten the hang of being part of a family.
She was taking too long to answer the clerk’s question and the woman was looking at her with suspicion. Hannah straightened her shoulders. The hospital wasn’t asking about the strength of her tie to the man she called Father. All they wanted was her legal status.
She nodded to emphasize her point. “I’m his daughter. His only family.”
Neither one of them had anyone else. Strange as it was, that feeble truth had pulled her back to Dry Creek.
The woman still eyed her skeptically and asked for identification. Hannah pulled out her wallet and flipped it open. “Here’s my driver’s license.”
The clerk seemed friendlier after she’d checked Hannah’s name on the license. “We have to be careful who we talk to. The privacy laws, you know.”
The woman looked down on her desk and pulled a clipboard from the pile in front of her. “The two of you can have a seat in the waiting room. Someone will call your name shortly and then escort you back to your father.”
Hannah nodded. “Thank you.”
Most of the seats in the waiting room were taken. Hannah noticed several mothers with toddlers and was thankful that Jeremy was not here. She was determined to keep him out of hospitals as much as possible. Planning to lead into telling him why, she’d asked if he might want to spend a night in a hospital sometime. The very thought seemed to terrify him. Since then, she hadn’t come up with a good way to tell her son that he would most likely need to do just that because he was very sick.
“How’s this?” Mark asked as he gestured to the two empty chairs in the corner.
Hannah nodded and they walked over to them. She’d have to tell everyone about Jeremy’s leukemia diagnosis at some point, but she didn’t want to do that until she had at least unpacked their clothes and gotten them settled.
She wondered how Mark could know who she was thinking about, but he seemed to because they had no sooner sat down in the chairs than he asked, “Which of these kids is closest to Jeremy’s size?”
Mark seemed a little shy about asking.
She looked up and smiled. The first thing she’d noticed about him when he came into the café earlier was that he was wearing one of his rodeo champion belt buckles. The lights overhead made the buckle sparkle here and there where it hit the brass and silver parts. Mark prided himself on winning those prize buckles and had several. Today, though, he looked like the boy she’d met when they were both ten years old. He had a hank of hair that was unruly. It had always been that way. The rich brown strands curled slightly everywhere on his head, except behind his left ear. Tufts of hair just stuck out, defiant of any comb. Hannah had noticed last year that Jeremy had an identical spot developing on his head.
“The boy holding the orange ball is about Jeremy’s size,” she said quietly.
As Mark studied the child, she looked at him. Apart from the hair problem, he had a stubborn chin. It took the edge off his handsomeness. He had some fine lines on his face now that had not been there before. She wondered if they were from pain. Everyone she had talked to said he would never come out of that coma. When he started to get better, she had called the hospital. The doctors said they needed to be careful about his visitors and only his sister could see him. It had been the amazing story of the week on local news when he moved his finger for the first time, though. She’d wept happy tears for days. It wasn’t until later that she realized everything would not just slip back into place. It could not.
“My sister says Jeremy loves horses,” Mark said. “Maybe you can bring him over to our ranch and he can ride a pony in a few days.”
She’d heard the Nelson horse ranch was prospering now that Mark, his sister, Allie, and his new brother-in-law, Clay West, were all working together. Mark’s father was there, too, but he was semiretired.
“Jeremy would love that,” Hannah said before she realized it could not happen. She didn’t know exactly what his treatments would be, but she figured that, when they were over, Jeremy would be too frail to risk breaking any bones. Even if everything worked, the doctor said Jeremy might be in a wheelchair indefinitely. “It’s probably best to wait a while, though.”
Mark started to say something, but just then a door opened and a nurse called out, “Miss Stelling.”
Hannah looked up. “This way please,” the woman said. Hannah stood and Mark was right beside her.
The lights were bright and a series of doors led off the hallway. Muffled voices seemed to come from everywhere.
The woman motioned for them to stop beside a closed door, and Hannah glanced up to Mark. His face was pale. Those pain wrinkles seemed more pronounced. She reached out and took his hand. They had both lost loved ones in this hospital. His mother. Her adoptive mother. Mark squeezed her hand and didn’t let it go. “We’ll get him well again.”
Hannah couldn’t find her voice to answer, but she already knew she did not agree with his glib response. The coma had protected Mark from the struggles she’d had in the last years. She gently withdrew her hand from his. Mark couldn’t help that coma, but she believed he’d already decided to move away before he got shot that night. He was going away to college. Her son didn’t need to become attached to someone who would eventually leave him.
The woman stepped into the room and then came out.
“You can go in,” she said. “The nurse inside will help you.”
“Thank you,” Hannah whispered.
Light green walls reflected the strong florescent lights. A grunt came from the elevated bed in the middle of the room.
“What took you so long?” a man’s querulous voice accused her from where he lay. Blankets partially hid his face, but she knew him.
Hannah stopped in midstride. Her father had barely greeted her when she drove in last night, saying little beyond directing her to set herself up in the small house near the barn. That’s where the farmhands had stayed when there were any. It was drafty and dusty. It hadn’t been used in years. Her father had no reason to expect to see her standing here now.
“You can’t talk to Hannah that way,” Mark said before Hannah could answer. “You didn’t call and tell her what happened. She didn’t need to come to the hospital at all.”
“It’s okay,” Hannah whispered. She was embarrassed at the gulf between her and her father. But she hadn’t moved back under any illusion that he’d give her a warm welcome.
She’d come because she had no other home. And the part-time job in the café gave her time off so she could take Jeremy to his doctor’s appointments. She’d still be able to work enough hours to buy groceries and, if necessary, pay rent. She reminded herself she needed to find out exactly what her father wanted in payment for use of that run-down house. She prayed it wouldn’t be much; she didn’t know what the copays would be on Jeremy’s treatment yet—or even if their insurance would cover it at all. She’d find out on Wednesday when she took him to meet the physician who’d be treating him.
“No need to be touchy,” her father said, glaring at Mark. “I—”
“We need to decide what to do,” Hannah interrupted matter-of-factly as she stepped closer to her father’s bed. She didn’t have time in her life for this kind of drama. The nurse, on the other side of her father, was setting a glass of water on his table.
Hannah continued, “First off, you were in an accident.”
“I know what happened,” her father snapped. “My brain works just fine—” He looked over at Mark and glared. “Not like some I could mention.”
“That remark is not necessary.” Hannah was appalled at what he’d said. Her father never had approved of her spending time with Mark, but he’d usually avoided outright rudeness. “You should be grateful Mark drove me here.”
She did not know what her father had against the Nelson family, but she wasn’t going to let him make a scene. She stepped even closer to the hospital bed, thinking her father might lower his voice if she did so. The door was still open and she did not want the whole floor to hear him.
He just grimaced at her. “I don’t need anyone hovering over me.”
“Yes, you do,” the nurse informed him briskly. “The doctor means it when he says you need to be watched for at least twenty-four hours. You’ve got a concussion and cracked ribs.”
“I can’t worry about any of that,” he protested indignantly. “I have to get my wheat harvested. It’s going to rain and I’ll lose the whole crop if I don’t get it in. Then how will I pay my taxes?”
“The doctor knows his medicine,” the nurse said with even greater emphasis. “He won’t release you if you’re going to bounce around on farm equipment and do your head more harm.”
“A rancher can’t just ignore his crops,” her father said. “He’ll end up broke.”
“The doctor thinks your health is more important than your crops.”
“It’s my livelihood,” her father persisted.
“And this is your life,” the nurse countered.
The room was silent for a minute while her father tried to stare down the nurse. He didn’t succeed.
“I’ll do the harvesting,” Hannah finally said. “At least today and tomorrow.”
She’d need to be free on Wednesday to take Jeremy to his initial consultation with the new doctor. But she could run the combine tomorrow. She’d helped her father with the farmwork the summer her mother had been so ill. He hadn’t cared about the crops then. He’d sat in the back bedroom by her mother’s side for days.
“You?” her father demanded incredulously. “You can’t run that combine by yourself! Besides, you’d lose that job of yours at the café, and then what would you do? I can’t be supporting you and that sick boy of yours all winter long.”
The silence went even deeper. In the phone call she’d made last week, Hannah hadn’t told her father about the leukemia; she had only said Jeremy was sick. Apparently that had been enough to put him off, though.
“I won’t lose my job,” Hannah said, praying it was true. “Maybe I can start in the fields before it’s light in the morning—”
Mark interrupted, “Jeremy’s sick?”
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Hannah said.
“Of course the boy’s sick,” her father muttered flatly. “What do you expect?”
It took Hannah a minute to realize what her father meant. “What are you saying? That it’s my fault Jeremy’s sick? Because I wasn’t married?”
She knew how the old man thought. He didn’t answer.
Hannah turned to Mark. “Let’s go. He can stay here for all I care.”
Her father’s attitude reminded her of why she’d felt she needed to sneak away from his house. No one at the home for unwed mothers was even pretending to be part of her family. And that meant they didn’t feel they had the right to condemn her, either.
She started walking to the door when she heard Mark speak.
“I’ll run the combine,” he announced quietly.
Hannah went back into the room.
“You?” her father sounded even more agitated as he stared at Mark. “Why, I can’t let a Nelson—”
Hannah stared at the man who had been the only father she’d ever known. She wasn’t the only one he disliked. He wouldn’t ask for help from anyone. He’d locked eyes with Mark and was starting to sit up as though that would prove something.
“You need to get that wheat in a granary soon or you won’t have a crop at all,” Mark said, his voice not rising. “You should have let me help you last week when I offered.”
“You already said you’d help him?” Hannah squeaked, staring at Mark. She could not believe this.
He nodded. “And got cussed out for the effort.”
Hannah glanced over to her father and saw him looking sheepish.
“You refused to let him help you?” she asked. “Why?”
Her father might not ask for assistance, but she hadn’t expected he would turn it down.
“I don’t need him to do anything.” Then, looking belligerent, her father added, “And don’t think I’m going to pay overtime for any twelve-hour days.”
“It’ll be more like sixteen-hour days since you let it go so late, and I’ll not be charging you a penny, you old fool,” Mark said. “You treat Hannah better and don’t say a bad word about Jeremy and we’ll consider ourselves even.”
Hannah smiled slightly. Her father glowered at everyone, but he kept his mouth shut. He was apparently willing to accept help when it was free.
“You’ll keep him quiet and resting?” the nurse asked Hannah. “For at least a full day?”
She nodded.
“I’ll get the doctor, then,” the nurse said. “It’ll take a few minutes to get him ready to leave.”
“My pickup is busted up, too,” her father mumbled as the nurse left the room.
“I’ve got mine outside,” Mark said. “Do we need to call a tow truck for yours?”
Hannah’s father shook his head. “The repair shop has it. I’ll come back and get it next week. In the meantime, we need to take this back with us.”
He pointed to a small cardboard box with a stock number on top of it that was lying at the foot of his bed. “For the combine.”
Mark nodded. “That’s the part you need?”
“Yes,” the older man said. “I made the ambulance guys get it for me before I agreed to go with them.”
Mark bent over and picked up the box.
“You were right, then,” Hannah said to Mark as they exited the room. Together they walked back down the hall. The nurse was planning to bring Hannah’s father to the left entrance when he was ready.
“I’m sorry he’s so rude,” Hannah said. “Hopefully he’ll only need you for a day or two.”
Mark looked over. “You’re not responsible for your father.”
“Maybe not,” Hannah said. “But someone needs to apologize for him. He’s gotten worse. I had no idea.”
“He misses you,” Mark said.
“I doubt that,” Hannah muttered.
She reminded herself that she needed to stay in Dry Creek for only a few months. By then—please, God, she mouthed—Jeremy would be well again, at least if the doctor had an opening and could perform that new stem cell treatment she’d heard about. He’d already done it for others and had wonderful results.
“I’ll pray with you, if you tell me what’s troubling you,” Mark said.
“Oh.” Hannah hadn’t realized he was listening that closely. Her words had been little more than two short whispered breaths. She didn’t want to confess to her troubles, though. Not until she knew if she could trust him.
Finally Hannah nodded. “I didn’t know you pray.”
They had both been in Mrs. Hargrove’s Sunday school class for years, so they knew their Bible stories. But by high school, neither one of them was taking God very seriously.
“You certainly didn’t pray back then,” she added.
Mark shrugged. “Things change.”
She had no answer to that; it was obvious.
“We’ll be back at your dad’s place soon,” Mark finally added.
“He won’t sit quiet,” Hannah warned. “You’ll wonder why you ever agreed to help him.”
“I’m not helping him,” Mark said as he looked over at her. “I’m doing it for you and Jeremy.”
Hannah felt the panic inside. “I don’t need any charity.”
Mark grunted. “Never said you did.”
Hannah almost shook herself. Part of keeping her guard up was to do it so quietly that no one noticed. Mark would be watching her if he thought she was trying to avoid reasonable help.
“I can ask for assistance if I need it,” she assured him.
“Of course.” Mark smiled as he reached for the door.
Hannah let him open it and didn’t say anything. This whole exchange was making her wonder if she could bring herself to ask for help in a crisis. She never would ask for herself, but she would have to ask for Jeremy if he was as sick as he might be. She’d know more after the upcoming doctor’s appointment. For now, she had no choice but to accept Mark’s help, even if it meant she put her heart at risk. She didn’t know how she was going to cope with seeing him every day until her father’s wheat was harvested.
Chapter Two (#u2c88dd81-83c0-5bf4-9b0a-8c4774282058)
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.
Chapter Three (#u2c88dd81-83c0-5bf4-9b0a-8c4774282058)
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.
Chapter Four (#u2c88dd81-83c0-5bf4-9b0a-8c4774282058)
The sun was directly overhead when Mark decided he was ready for a break. It was noon and time to eat. He’d been working for a couple of hours and the clouds had gradually scattered so it was no longer likely to rain. Hopefully that would help Mr. Stelling relax a little. The odds were improving that the rancher would get his crop harvested without any weather damage.
Mark climbed down from the combine, carrying his water jug, and saw dry wheat chaff rise around him like a fine dust storm. He sneezed. It was blazing hot and his legs were cramped from being in the same position with his foot on the gas pedal.
Mark paused a long moment and stretched as he stood on the ground. Then he pulled his work gloves off and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His hands were red from the heat. If it was like this for him, the job was too hot for someone of Mr. Stelling’s age, even if the man didn’t have a concussion to complicate things.
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