Dry Creek Daddy

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.