Always Dakota (16 page)

“What?” Calla had learned the hard way to ask what kind of favor first. Her stay in Minneapolis had made her wary of even the most innocent-sounding requests. She strolled purposely toward the far side of the store, where Hassie displayed several lines of cosmetics.

“I’ve got a new prescription for your mother,” Hassie told her. “Would you drop it off for me?”

Calla placed the mascara on the counter and pulled a wad of dollars from the hip pocket of her jeans. “Can’t Dennis get it for her later? Let him do it.” Calla wasn’t stupid. Hassie was trying to manipulate her into visiting her mother—something Calla would prefer not to do.

Her response seemed to stun Hassie. Not saying a word, she stared at Calla with a directness that made her squirm.

“Oh, all right,” Calla said irritably. “I’ll take over the prescription.” But she was annoyed Hassie had asked her to do this, and made her feelings very clear.

Muttering under her breath, she grabbed the small white sack and her change and slammed out of the store. Still annoyed, she walked the few blocks to the old Habberstad house.

She stomped onto the porch, where she paused to ring the doorbell. Then, without waiting for an answer, she let herself inside. “It’s me,” she shouted, stepping into the house.

Her mother lay on the sofa where she’d been the other two times Calla had talked to her.

“Calla!” Her mother’s eyes lit up when she saw her.

Calla hated that and she loved it. She wanted her mother to be happy to see her, but at the same time, she didn’t want to feel anything for Sarah. Nevertheless, Calla had to admit that she did, and she resented it. “Hassie asked me to drop off this prescription,” she said, wanting to be sure her mother realized this wasn’t a social call.

“Thank you.” Sarah was pale and drawn, much paler than she’d been on Calla’s last visit.

“How are you?” Calla hesitated, then set the small package on the coffee table.

Her mother glanced up toward the ceiling. “I’m going stir crazy. Another month and everything should be better, but this inactivity is so boring. I’ve read every book and magazine in the house, until my eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of my head.”

“Can’t you work on the quilts?”

“Some,” her mother said, “but my concentration is so poor these days.”

“You could always watch TV or videos.”

“I could,” she agreed. “But there’s very little I want to see on television.”

“Daytime television is the pits,” Calla murmured, remembering her own attempts to watch it in Minneapolis. She also remembered that her father had found it enthralling, especially the sports channels. He could sit in front of the TV for eight hours straight.

“I’ll manage,” Sarah insisted.

Calla frowned. “One would think Dennis would be happy to get you some videos, then,” she said waspishly, eager to put her stepfather in a bad light.

“He would if I asked,” Sarah returned.

“Why don’t you?”

Sarah looked down, shaking her head. “He has enough to do with keeping up the house, cooking, cleaning, plus working all day. I don’t want to ask anything more of him.”

Calla walked about the room and picked up discarded sections of the newspaper. It didn’t look like Dennis was all that great a housekeeper, but she didn’t say so.

“Dennis should spend more time with you,” Calla muttered instead, her tone challenging. He was the one responsible for this—her mother being pregnant and all. The least he could do was be there for her.

“He tries.”

Calla snorted softly, hating the way her mother was so quick to defend him. “In my opinion, he doesn’t try hard enough.” She picked up the empty juice glass on the table and carried it, along with the newspaper, into the kitchen. The sink was filled with dirty dishes. There was no excuse for that. It wouldn’t take three minutes to load the dishwasher. If her mother saw the state of the kitchen, she’d have a conniption.

Calla ran the sink full of hot, soapy water, rinsed the dishes and loaded them, then wiped down the counter. She should probably leave this mess for Dennis but knew how upset her mother would be if she were to see all these dirty dishes.

“What are you doing in there?” Sarah called.

Not wanting to admit she was washing dishes, Calla made up an excuse. “I thought you’d enjoy a cup of herbal tea.”

“Oh, Calla, how thoughtful. I’d love one.”

She hadn’t wanted her mother to think of her as thoughtful, but there was no help for that now. Feeling as though their roles had been reversed and
she
was the adult in the situation, Calla brewed a pot of mint tea and carried it out on a tray—with a cup and saucer and a plate of cheese and crackers. Her mother should be gaining weight, not losing it. She looked wretched, almost gaunt.

“Calla,” her mother whispered, “this is lovely. Thank you.”

She shrugged, dismissing the gratitude.

“Could you stay a few minutes and talk?” Sarah implored.

“What’s wrong with the baby?” No one had bothered to explain it to Calla—but then she’d made a point of not asking until now.

Her mother seemed happy to supply the answer and outlined what the physician had told her. Apparently, what she had was called an irritated uterus, which was a broad term describing the symptoms. It’d started with spotting early in the pregnancy. During even the slightest activity, the uterus underwent contractions. When Sarah lay down and kept still, the baby was safe, but the minute she was up and about, her uterus reacted. Sarah spoke about this at greater length than Calla considered necessary; it made her realize how lonely her mother was, how hungry for company.

Calla had intended to leave almost immediately, but now she was glad she’d stayed. Her mother was going crazy with all this unproductive time on her hands, and Calla discovered that she enjoyed being useful—and appreciated. Before long, she had a cup of tea herself.

She reached for a cracker with cheese. “Joe asked me about the Sweetheart Dance,” she commented, unsure why she mentioned the fact. It was something to talk about, she decided, something noteworthy.

“Was he inviting you?” Sarah’s look held hers.

Calla set the teacup aside and tucked her hands beneath her thighs. “If he was, I didn’t give him the opportunity to ask.”

“He’s a little late, isn’t he, seeing that the dance is next week?”

Calla nodded. “That’s what I thought. I didn’t want to give him the impression that he could ask me at the last minute and I’d leap at the chance to go out with him again.” Calla lowered her gaze. “But I would.”

“You’re still interested in him?”

Calla shrugged. Joe had hurt her, dumping her the way he had. He’d made her feel foolish…and undesirable. It wasn’t because of the things they’d done physically that she felt bad, although she had regrets in that area, too, but because she’d shared her thoughts. He’d gotten her to talk about her feelings and her problems. He’d seemed to understand and sympathize. She’d felt close to him, closer than she had to anyone, when out of the blue he’d announced that it might be best if they started seeing other people. Translated, that meant he’d met a cheerleader type with a lot more sexual experience. A girl who was willing to put out.

“I’m over Joe,” she said, although that wasn’t entirely true. “What I want is for him to be sorry that he broke up with me.”

To her surprise, when she glanced up she found her mother smiling. Calla bristled. “Is that funny?”

“No, no,” Sarah said, obviously hurrying to correct the impression. “It’s just very human. Everyone feels like that when someone’s done them wrong.”

They talked more about Joe, and drank another cup of tea. This was the longest conversation Calla had had with her mother in years. When she checked her watch, she was shocked to see how late it was.

“Would you like me to get dinner started?” She’d found a roast defrosting on the kitchen counter. If she stuck it in the oven now, it’d be done by about 7:30.

Sarah looked amazed at the offer. “That would be very nice. Meals have been pretty haphazard recently.”

Calla could well imagine. She knew what her grandfather was like when he came home from work; the last thing he wanted to do was cook dinner. Apparently Dennis felt the same way. Calla was absolutly certain that until she’d returned, her grandfather had eaten every meal out of a can or the freezer, unless he went over to Buffalo Bob’s or The Pizza Parlor.

Thirty minutes later, just as Calla was about to leave, the back door suddenly opened and Dennis walked in. He paused when he saw her, almost as though bracing himself for a confrontation.

“My mother’s too pale,” Calla said, accusing him.

“I know,” he muttered, frowning. “The blood test showed she’s anemic. That’s what her new prescription was for.” He looked around the kitchen. “You clean up here?”

She nodded. “Someone had to do it. My mother doesn’t like a mess. You’re her husband, you should know that.”

“I do—I just wish there were more hours in a day.”

Calla wasn’t interested in listening to his excuses. “You take care of her, understand?”

“You’d better believe it,” Dennis said grimly. Then he paused. “Listen, Calla. You and I might have our problems, but we do have one thing in common.”

Calla doubted it.

“We both love your mother.”

Five weeks after Axel had been pulled from her arms, Merrily woke up in Oklahoma City, sleeping in a cheap hotel and working at a job she hated. More and more, her thoughts were of Bob and Buffalo Valley, and the life she’d abandoned. She’d left with no intention of returning, but now, going back was all she thought about.

It was a revelation to her: she’d lost the taste for running. Despite what she’d been telling herself every day of these five miserable weeks, the only place she wanted to be was with Bob, her Buffalo Man in North Dakota. Somehow, without her noticing it, Buffalo Valley had become home.

Merrily believed Bob had betrayed her. So she’d done what she’d always done—and that was to escape. To run as far and as fast as she could. If Bob had kept his mouth shut, they’d still have Axel. If he hadn’t insisted they work this out through the legal system, no one in California would ever know what had become of the boy. Not a single person there cared that Axel was being abused by his father. Not until it was too late and the evidence was gone. The state had refused to listen when she’d reported that his mother was a drug addict. Because of her own previous conviction? Why should that matter? No one gave a damn about Axel—not the police and not Child Protective Services—until she’d risked everything and taken him. Overnight she was a criminal.

The people of California should be thanking her for saving his life; instead they called her a kidnapper and threatened her with a jail term that would make her an old woman by the time she was released.

What hurt most was that her husband, the man she loved, was responsible for this, the biggest loss of her life. He’d insisted they couldn’t be constantly looking over their shoulders, worrying, wondering.

Bob didn’t want anything hanging over his head; he hated living like a fugitive. He was also braver than she was, more trusting. Apparently he hadn’t gotten kicked in the teeth as many times as she had. He actually seemed to believe that once the courts heard the evidence, the two of them would get Axel back.

Merrily tried not to think about Axel, because every time she did her eyes filled with tears. In the past five weeks, she’d shed more tears than she would’ve guessed possible. They’d taken away her baby and despite all the promises, despite all the reassurances, she knew deep in her heart that she’d never see Axel again.

That was why she’d run. When the pain got too bad, that was what she always did. Her entire life had been spent racing from one “geographical cure” to another, seeking a new beginning, a fresh start, a way out. Not until she’d met Bob had she ever returned to one place. One man.

Sitting on the edge of the thin mattress, Merrily rubbed her face. She missed Bob and their home. She missed Axel, too, but there was nothing she could do about that, and the ache in her heart was even worse without Bob.

It didn’t take long to stuff her belongings in a bag. She paid the bill with cash, then worked an eight-hour shift at the all-night diner. Before she left, she filled her car with gas and headed north to Buffalo Valley. Headed home.

Not until she reached Sioux Falls, South Dakota, did she allow herself to wonder what Bob would say or do when he saw her. After five weeks of no contact, she couldn’t be one-hundred-percent sure of her reception.

Bob had made it plain when he married her that from this point forward they were partners in life. Her disappearing acts were over. She’d agreed to those terms, welcomed the opportunity to be a wife and…a mother to Axel. She would have done anything, signed any contract, to ensure a stable life for her son.

In the weeks she’d been away, a whole lot could have changed. Merrily didn’t know what Bob had told their attorney about her being gone, or if he had. All that money spent and for what? It wouldn’t get Axel back. Nor did she know what awaited her in regard to possible jail time. There was every likelihood that there’d been an arrest warrant issued in her name. That was all part of the risk she was taking. Nevertheless she headed back because the life she had now was no life. With Bob there was a chance—there was love.