Dakota Home (35 page)

“That's my fault,” Dennis murmured. “I wasn't thinking clearly. Happiness will do that to a man.”

He gazed down on Sarah with such adoration, she had to look away. Even now she had trouble believing their engagement was real.

“We'll talk to her tomorrow,” Sarah promised, but she dreaded the confrontation. Her daughter wouldn't make it pleasant, and she feared Calla would do everything possible to keep them apart.

Dennis walked Sarah to her father's house. “You sure you don't want to come home with me?” he whispered.

“I do,” she said, slipping her hands up his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist and they kissed. “But—”

“But we shouldn't because of Calla,” he finished for her.

Sarah nodded. There'd be hell to pay as it was, and she didn't want to complicate things more than they already were.

“I'll see you tomorrow?”

She nodded eagerly.

“We'll talk to Calla together and the three of us can set the wedding date.”

That sounded perfectly wonderful to Sarah.

They said their goodbyes and Sarah walked into the house. Her father had arrived before her and left on the living-room lamp. As she headed down the hallway that led to her bedroom, she hesitated outside Calla's door. If circumstances were different, if their relationship was more harmonious, Sarah would have talked to her right then.

Not wanting an argument with Calla to destroy her happiness, she hurried to her own room and undressed. Within minutes she was sound asleep.

A loud knocking at her door woke her up. “Sarah!”

It was her father's voice.

“Just a minute.” She grabbed her housecoat from the foot of the bed. Opening the door, she blinked in the hall light. “What is it?”

“You have a phone call.”

“What time is it?”

“Four,” he said, yawning.

“Who'd call me this time of the morning?” she demanded as she hurried toward the phone.

Her father caught her arm and he wore a look she hadn't seen since the day her mother died. A look that spoke of pain and fear and doubt.

“Dad?”

He avoided eye contact and opened Calla's bedroom door. Her daughter's bed was untouched.

“Where's Calla?” she cried, her heart in a panic.

“It'sWillie on the phone. He says he has Calla with him.”

“But—”

“She's moving in with him,” her father told her, placing a supportive arm around her shoulders. “Apparently she left a note…” He sighed. “I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I don't think there's anything we can do.”

F
ather McGrath officiated at the private wedding of Maddy Washburn and Jeb McKenna on a beautiful June day two weeks later. Lindsay served as her matron of honor and Dennis stood up as Jeb's best man. Gage Sinclair, Leta Betts, Joshua McKenna, Sarah Stern, Hassie Knight, and a handful of others gathered around the couple to share in their joy. Margaret Clemens sobbed loudly throughout the entire ceremony, claiming she'd never been so happy in her life.
She
might have been happy, but by the time they'd finished, Maddy suspected Father McGrath was ready to throttle her.

Because the baby was due in about six weeks, Maddy's mother had decided to take her vacation when she could spend time with her grandchild. Maddy didn't mind; in truth, she preferred that her mother visit after the baby arrived.

Following a small wedding dinner with their friends and Father McGrath, Jeb and Maddy drove back to the ranch.

“Are you sure you don't mind not having a honeymoon?” Jeb asked.

Maddy sat in the pickup next to her husband and leaned her head against his shoulder. She still held the small floral bouquet of white baby roses, their fragrance filling the truck's cab. “I don't mind in the least,” she said, and added because it was all so new, “husband.” It would take some time to grow accustomed to the word.

“Wife,” Jeb whispered. He removed one hand from the steering wheel and placed his arm around her shoulders. His look was tender and so full of love that Maddy had to blink back tears.

They had much to settle, including where they'd live, but they both felt it was important to get married first and discuss the details later. For now, Maddy was perfectly content to live on the ranch. With the baby due so soon, Jeb wasn't in favor of her making the long drive into Buffalo Valley every day to run the grocery. Maddy agreed; she'd hired a manager to handle the grocery's day-to-day operations. She wasn't surprised when both Loomis twins had immediately applied for the position. Unfortunately, they weren't twenty-one yet, but what they lacked in age and experience they more than compensated for with enthusiasm.

To her delight, Pete Mitchell had shown interest in the job. His farm was for sale and had been for a couple of years. Maddy knew the family was suffering financially; the tragedy of the independent farmer's loss of land, income and dignity had never struck her in such a personal way before.

After a couple of interviews, she'd been confident Pete would fit in well. He was organized, personable, quick-thinking and hardworking—everything she wanted. With the Loomis twins ready and willing to prove themselves, she'd assembled a good team. For the next six months she'd serve more as adviser than manager. Currently she was training Pete.

As soon as he learned he had the job, Pete rented a house and moved his wife and two school-age daughters into town. The word was out that Gage Sinclair had already talked to him about a lease-option on his thousand acres of farmland.

Jeb turned off the highway and steered the truck down the long driveway that led to the house. They'd spent the week transferring her things from town to the ranch. Already Jeb's house felt like home.

When he'd parked, he didn't immediately make any motion to leave. “Maddy,” he said, “I never believed a woman could love me until I met you.”

“Oh, Jeb, I do love you.”

“I know.” He kissed her in a way that made her grateful she was a married woman.

“I think it's time we went inside, don't you?” she asked, gazing up at him with a suggestive smile.

“Past time,” Jeb said, throwing open the truck door.

Their lovemaking was wonderful. Her advanced pregnancy presented some challenges but they didn't let that discourage them. Between giggles and long, deep kisses, they satisfied each other completely, perfectly. Soon the only sound from either of them was sighs, followed by moans of pleasure. Afterward they held each other, not wanting to let go.

With a soft breeze ruffling the curtains and early-evening sunlight slanting into the room, Maddy lay there in her husband's arms. But her contentment began to fade a little as she thought about the growing troubles in his family—their family now.

“What are you thinking?” Jeb asked and kissed her temple.

Maddy shook her head rather than discuss the worries that had drifted into her mind.

“Are you concerned about the baby?” Jeb gently stroked her stomach.

“No…it's Sarah. She looked so worried.”

Jeb's arm tightened. “When I get my hands on Calla, I swear I'm going to give that girl a swift kick in the butt. What she's done to Sarah…” He left the rest unsaid.

Maddy knew Jeb would never lay a hand on Calla, but she shared his frustration. Apparently the girl was living with Willie now and God knew the things he was telling her. Sarah had talked to Calla only once since she'd run away; Maddy didn't know what was said, but the conversation had obviously upset Jeb's sister.

“Her divorce is final next week,” Jeb muttered.

“Does she have to go to court?”

“Her attorney says it's not necessary.”

“Good.”

“I just hope she doesn't use this problem with Calla as an excuse to delay marrying Dennis,” Jeb said. “He's waited so long for her as it is.”

“I hope she doesn't, either.”

“That would be playing right into Calla's hands,” Jeb continued. “But they both agree they can't allow a teenager to dictate their lives.”

At that, Maddy smiled. “Our baby isn't even born and he's already having a say in our lives.”

“Maddy.” Jeb raised himself on one elbow and gazed down at her, in the waning light. “Just so there's no misunderstanding—so you'll never question or doubt this again—I would have married you with or without the pregnancy.”

She wanted so badly to believe him.

“After the blizzard, I thought I could send you away. I believed it was the best thing for both of us, but I knew within a week that it was going to be impossible to let you go.”

“I knew it right away. That day we came back to town. When you left me at the store,” she whispered, looking up at her husband. “Speaking of the store, I remember the first time we met….”

“I was furious with Sarah, and now I'll forever be grateful that she didn't bring me coffee.” He leaned down far enough for their lips to meet.

Maddy groaned as a renewed sense of longing surged through her. Linking her arms around her husband's neck, she reminded him of those early meetings right here at the ranch when she'd delivered his grocery orders. “You were downright unfriendly,” she finished.

“And you, thank God, chose to ignore my bad moods. Instead, you gave me a reason to laugh, a reason to look forward to every Thursday. A reason to drive into town.”

“Town isn't such a bad place, you know.”

He nodded and drew close for another kiss. “Especially when you were there.”

“Kiss me like that again, Mr. McKenna, and be prepared to accept the consequences.”

“Then how about if I do this?” He directed his mouth to her breasts instead.

“Jeb,” she groaned, running her fingers through his hair.

“Yes, love…”

“Never mind…” She closed her eyes and held him as he lavished attention on her breasts.

Her last coherent thought for some time was that marriage had a lot to recommend it.

 

“Calla!” Willie Stern called from the living room.

When she didn't immediately respond, Calla heard the sound of an empty beer can hitting her bedroom door. “What?” she yelled.

“Get me another beer, would you?”

She wanted to tell him to get his own damn beer, but that would only mean another argument. They'd had enough of those in the past couple of weeks. It was almost as bad as when she'd lived in Buffalo Valley—but not quite. Her father let her wear black lipstick and dye her hair a deep, deep shade of purple. So far, he hadn't imposed any restrictions on her. That part Calla loved.

“Are you going to get me that beer or not?”

“Hold on a minute,” she snapped. Her father had no patience.

“You're as lazy as your mother,” he complained when she walked out of the bedroom. “Has she still got a fat ass?”

Calla paused. “My mother isn't lazy and she isn't fat.”

He snickered. “That's not the way I remember it.”

It hadn't taken her long to realize that Willie Stern had frequent lapses in memory. Not only that, he obviously wasn't too familiar with the work ethic—unlike her mother and her grandfather, who always droned on about how important it was. Calla was beginning to see their point. In two weeks, Willie had worked a grand total of four days. His boss had called two or three times looking for him, and he'd refused to answer the phone. Instead, Calla was supposed to lie. She didn't know how he paid his rent or where he got the money for beer. She didn't
want
to know, but she had her suspicions.

“Where you going?” he asked, when she started for the front door.

“Out.” She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder.

“Not until you bring your old man a beer.”

Wordlessly, Calla walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and carried in the last of the twelve-pack. Willie opened it and guzzled half the can.

“I don't know what time I'll be back.”

He waved her out the door. “That's cool. I'm having a few friends over later, anyway, and it's probably not a good idea for you to be here.”

Another party. Calla hated the parties. She was supposed to be too dumb to figure out what was going on. Willie—he insisted she not call him Dad—and his trashy friends were into drugs and booze. Like she didn't have a nose and didn't know what pot smelled like. There was other stuff, too, but she'd resolutely ignored it.

“In fact, stay the night with a friend,” he advised, his attention glued to the television screen.

“I don't have any friends.”

“Make some.”

“How am I supposed to do that? There's no school right now.”

“Take the bus to the mall. Plenty of kids your age hang out there.”

It all seemed so easy to him, but she didn't know
how
to meet people. At home, everyone knew everyone else. In the two weeks since she'd left Buffalo Valley she'd only talked to one other girl. She'd been friendly, and they'd chatted for a couple of minutes in the food court and then the girl saw someone else she knew and left. Calla hadn't seen her since.

“Don't know anyone,” Willie murmured, dragging his gaze away from the television to glance in her direction. “You poor kid. It's been rough on you, hasn't it?”

She shrugged rather than admit the truth and found herself blinking back tears at his unexpected sympathy. It didn't last.

“Listen,” he said. “Would you mind cleaning up the place before you leave?”

The apartment was a disaster. Her mother would die before she let anyone see her home in this condition.

“I'd really appreciate it.” He gave her a hopeful look.

“All right,” Calla agreed with a reluctant sigh. All she'd done since she arrived was housework. Sometimes she felt more like Willie's maid than his daughter.

She took the garbage pail from the kitchen and collected the empty beer and soda cans, along with the discarded fast-food containers. They hadn't eaten a sit-down dinner even once. Usually he gave her a few bucks and let her fend for herself.

“Damn, did you see that?” he asked, and pointed at the television screen with his beer can.

Sports. Never in all her life had she known anyone who could watch sports twenty-four hours a day. Currently it was baseball, but Calla had never had much interest in the game.

“I was thinking of calling home,” she mentioned casually.

“Call home?” he exploded, spraying her with a mouthful of beer. “Not here you won't.”

“Why not?” she demanded, disgustedly wiping beer and spittle from her sleeve. Why
shouldn't
she call home? It was a perfectly reasonable request.

“I don't have long distance.”

“You called my grandfather the night I arrived,” she challenged.

“Yeah—I phoned collect.”

He'd called collect! Calla thought she'd be sick to her stomach. This was not turning out the way she'd assumed it would. Looking at the man who'd fathered her, she found it hard to believe that anyone like Willie Stern could ever have been married to her mother.

When she'd been younger, Calla had pressed Sarah for information about her father. She remembered her mother telling her that Willie played in a weekend band, how popular he was. What she
hadn't
said was that he had no talent, no ambition and absolutely no persistence. He hadn't played with the band in years.