Dry Creek Daddy. Janet Tronstad

“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,