Once a Father (2 page)

“Are you making this stuff up as you go along?” Logan sounded more bemused than troubled.

“When we get into the gray areas I'm making most of the calls. Max is pretty busy. Plus…” Sally gestured toward the baskets. “…qualified applications aren't exactly flooding in. See, these are my
‘In'
boxes.”

They were labeled
“Ifs,” “Ands”
and
“Buts.”

“Which ones have been rejected?” Mary asked.

“Those.” Sally pointed to a metal trash can. “What does the army call ‘File Thirteen'?”

“They don't even get a rejection letter?”

“Annie's handling that end of it. She writes such nice letters, we even get donations back from some of the rejects.”

“I haven't gotten any letter,” Mary told Logan. “Have you?”

He shook his head. “Must be in the
‘But'
pile.”

“You're both
‘Ifs.'
Together you could move from gray to green.” The look in Sally's eyes went from that of woman on top to woman in love. Mary and Logan turned to see the cause.

Hank Night Horse stood in the doorway ready with a handshake for each. Mary's came with a cowboy salute—touch of a finger to the brim of the hat—and Logan got a slap on his shoulder. “How's it goin', Track Man?”

“Have you figured this woman out yet?” Logan asked jovially. “Which box are you in?”

Hank and Sally exchanged affectionate glances.

“No conflict of interest there,” Logan said to Mary.

“No ‘ifs', ‘ands' or ‘buts' about it.” Mary stepped to one side.

“Just so we're clear, I'm not competing. I've got my hands full right now.” And to prove it Hank crossed the room, planted himself on the window seat behind his woman and rested his big hands on her slight shoulders. “But this guy's the best there is, Sally. He'll have his horse telling jokes while you clear the ring for the next contestant.”

“I don't do stunts,” Logan said. “A horse is a horse.”

“Of course, of course!” Sally chimed in. Giddiness looked good on her. “And I want you to do what you do so well. I want this competition to generate some wonderful stories. Like the one about the Lakota horseman and the warrior woman. That's going straight to
Horse Lover's Journal
.”

“Warrior woman,” Mary echoed with a chuckle. “I guess that's better than ‘dog soldier.'”

“Why?” Hank asked. “Dog soldiers were the Cheyenne's best warriors. Just lately they started up again. My sister got married to one, up in Montana. Anybody calls you a dog soldier, you take it as a compliment.”

“I do. I'm good at my job, too, and I prefer ‘dog soldier' to ‘dogface' but canine specialist has a better ring to it.”

“You don't wanna be called a whisperer?” Logan asked. “Everybody's whispering these days.”

“Got that, cowboy?” Sally slid Hank a playful smile. “You whisper, I purr.”

“I know.”

“Sweet,” Logan teased. “Rumor has it he can sing pretty good, too.”

“I know,” Sally said.

Mary looked at Logan and cocked an eyebrow. “You get the feeling we're in the way here?”

“I'll get out of the way when I get what I came for,” he said. “You sign up for the horse, you got yourself a trainer.”

She glanced at Sally, who beamed back at her.
Beaming you up, old chum.
They'd spent precious little time together since Mary had enlisted, but the years fell away instantly because Sally was…Sally.

No more sidestepping. No looking down. There was only the man at her side and the chance at hand. She looked him in the eye. “What's this gonna cost me?”

“A fair share of the prize.”

“How much of a share?”

“Depends on what you contribute time- and effort-wise. You gonna pony up, Sergeant?”

With the help of some army training, Mary had learned to welcome a good challenge, especially when it came from a worthy challenger. “Half,” she
said. “Half is fair, and we split the expenses down the middle, win or lose.”

“We can't lose. This is one of those win-win deals like you read about. Who's gonna write the story?”

“Which…?” Sally was so deep into their game she was practically falling out of her chair. The look of a sidelines fan suddenly hit with the ball earned her a laugh. Sally being Sally, she took it in stride. “Oh, we're gonna have all kinds of stories. That's the whole point. We need to get the word out about these horses.” She glanced toward the door and smiled. “I think I'll put Annie in charge of that little detail.”

“What little de— Mary!” Sally's younger sister surged into the room and greeted Mary with a hug. “Are you home for good? Stateside, at least? My God, you look wonderful.”

“So do you.” Smaller. Happier. How long had it been—five or six years? Oh, the nicknames she and Sally had hung on little Annie when they were kids. Chubby Cheeks. Mary glanced at the tall, dark and handsome cowboy trailing “Cheekers” and gave herself points for not blurting that one out. “This must be your new husband. Congratulations. I'm Mary Tutan.”

Zach Beaudry offered a tentative hand. “Tutan? As in…”

“As in Damn Tootin's daughter.”

“And my best friend forever,” Sally said emphatically. “Dan Tutan has nothing to say about that.”

“Oh, he has plenty to say. He's a difficult man, my father. Nobody knows that better than I do.” Mary offered a shrug and sigh. “Nobody except my mother. And my brother.” She gave an apologetic smile. “And our friends.”

“We had a very small wedding,” Ann said quickly. “At a lodge in the Black Hills. Very few guests. Mostly family.” Ann had to reach up to put her arm around Mary's shoulders. “Of course, if you'd been here…”

“I don't blame you for not inviting him. If I were having a wedding, I wouldn't invite him either. He's…” Mary glanced at Logan. “…difficult.”

“You know how he feels about the horses and the sanctuary,” Sally said. “That's the problem.”

“With my father it's not about feelings. It's about having things his way. That's what he lives for. His way puts food on the table, so that's a good thing. As long as you like to eat what he likes to eat.”

There was an awkward silence. Mary let it play out, a buffer between revealing more than she meant to—not quite as much as she wanted to—and taking a deep breath of fresh Drexler air.

She turned to Logan. The challenge was more important to her now than it had been an hour ago. “How does half sound?”

“What are you willing to do for your half?”

“Learn. If you're as good as they say, I'm willing
to be your apprentice.” She smiled. “I know how to take orders.”

“I don't give orders. You watch and listen, maybe you'll learn from me, maybe not.” He glanced at Sally, whose grin was all
atta boy.
He folded his arms and turned back to Mary. “So, what else?”

“Whatever needs doing.”

He gestured toward Sally's wire baskets. “Staple us together and give us a horse.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She'd use soap and water this time.

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

“I know how he thinks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home?
What was that?

Start with something simple, Mary.

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

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

“You get ninety days.”

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

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

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

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

“I was talking to Mother.”

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

“Of course.”
Who would have guessed?

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

“You're not making vanilla, are you?”

“Strawberry,” Audrey said.

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

“They're working dogs.”

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

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

“They don't like me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

“What the hell is goin' on?”

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

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