Dry Creek Daddy. Janet Tronstad

He had forgotten how well she could read him. “It’s your father.”

      “You’ve seen him?” Hannah’s face went blank for a moment. Then her cheeks turned pink with what looked like alarm. It was the most animated she’d been since Mark had stepped into the room. His heart sank. She could clearly be moved to concern, just not for him.

      “I came from Miles City a few minutes ago and saw your father’s pickup sitting beside the freeway,” Mark said, telling himself to focus on the details. Hannah would want to know it all. “He had an accident about a mile out. I came along as the ambulance was loading him up.” Mark had gone to the florist shop in Miles City and bought a long-stemmed rose for Hannah’s first day on the job. “I was worried when I saw him.”

      “But that can’t be right.” Hannah shook her head as though her hearing was faulty.

      “It was him,” Mark said. She’d never questioned him before. Maybe she just didn’t believe he was mentally able to tell her what had happened.

      “I just can’t believe it,” Hannah said. “I only got back to Dry Creek last night, but he was out in the field behind the barn this morning when I left. I didn’t have time to go out and talk to him then because I didn’t want to be late for work and I had to take Jeremy to—” Hannah stopped abruptly.

      She swallowed. Finally she was focused on Mark, but her stricken expression gave him no comfort. Her defenses were still there. He wanted her to be his sweetheart again, but she obviously did not want the same.

      “I took Jeremy to Mrs. Hargrove’s,” she said, finishing her sentence and then gathering herself together before adding, “You remember the older woman who teaches Sunday school here?”

      Mark watched a new, deeper blush climb up Hannah’s neck and flood her cheeks with color. For the first time today, she looked vulnerable. Then she turned away from him.

      “Of course I remember her,” Mark said, trying to keep his voice even. “I grew up here, too.” He paused. “And I know about Jeremy—our son.”

      He felt a hitch in his breath when he spoke of the boy. He had learned about Jeremy’s existence only a few months ago. That’s why he had been frantically writing Hannah those letters—the ones that had all come back to him unopened.

      “I’m sorry,” Hannah said softly and then looked away.

      “Don’t be.” He reached out a hand to her. Her defenses were down and all he wanted to do was comfort her.

      She took a step back from him. “I’m fine now.”

      “Of course you are.” He withdrew his hand.

      The biggest and best news he’d had when recovering from the coma had been that he and Hannah had a baby. Jeremy was four years old now. For months, Mark’s sister and father had postponed telling him about the child since the doctors had said not to upset Mark. “I’m glad to be a father. Very glad. I’m anxious to meet Jeremy.”

      He didn’t want to pressure Hannah, but he could hardly wait to see the boy.

      She finally met his eyes.

      “He’s a good boy,” Hannah said, her voice gentle. She smiled for the first time. “He’ll want to know you, but I have a lot to talk to him about before I do anything to unsettle him.”

      “Of course.” Mark bit back a retort. He didn’t want to cause his son any distress. Hannah should know that already. But he supposed he could not just show up and expect everything to be smooth. Then a suspicion came to him. “Does Jeremy even know about me?”

      “He’s never asked.” Hannah gave him an apologetic look. “I read a book by this doctor who recommended waiting until a child asks about a missing parent—especially if...”

      It was silent for a moment and then Mark realized what had happened. “You thought I was going to die.”

      Hannah flushed guiltily. “I prayed you wouldn’t.”

      “And I didn’t,” Mark said, clipping the words. He knew he was being unreasonable. Everyone else had thought that he was going to die; he didn’t know why Hannah should have believed otherwise. It still felt like a betrayal, though.

      Hannah was silent a moment and then she said, “I think you must be mistaken about my father. There are a lot of white pickups that look like his. About the only thing he said to me last night was that he was going to get the last of the wheat crop in today before the rain came. I know he was doing that this morning because he had on the same pair of overalls he’s worn for years when harvesting. So, no,” she said, looking at Mark with resolve. “He wouldn’t have been going to Miles City.”

      Mark didn’t know what Mr. Stelling had meant when he’d told Hannah he’d be getting in the last of the crop. Mark passed the older man’s fields almost daily. Mr. Stelling hadn’t started yet and everyone else in Dry Creek had finished their harvesting.

      It was the coma, Mark thought. People, and apparently Hannah was one of them, worried that it turned a person forgetful about the things that were happening in the present. But it didn’t. He might not remember every little thing from before the coma, but he knew what he’d seen this morning.

      “Maybe your dad needed to go for a new part for the combine,” Mark replied calmly. He knew Hannah had mixed feelings about her adoptive father, but Mark always felt she secretly longed to be able to turn to the man like a daughter would, even if he was one of the most difficult men Mark knew. “He was wearing that old gray plaid shirt of his, along with those overalls. The shirt had a hole in the sleeve.”

      Hannah’s eyes went wide.

      “That’s right,” she whispered. “Mom bought that shirt for him before she died. He always wore it when he did the harvesting. And he had torn it the last year I was here. He never fixed it.”

      Hannah’s auburn lashes were long and made her dark hazel eyes look striking. They were her most beautiful feature. But then, in high school he had declared her kneecaps to be works of art when he realized one day how pretty they were. It had made her giggle. Which had made him kiss her. Which had made her so breathless she started to hiccup. Which had made them both laugh. Mark wished they were back in that time.

      “My father hasn’t called,” she interrupted his thoughts, bringing them back to the present. “He knows I’m working at the café this morning. He’d call if he had trouble.”

      Mark didn’t have time to answer before he heard the door open that led into the room from the kitchen. Lois Wagner, the other waitress who worked in the café, walked out to the area where he and Hannah stood.

      “Here we go,” Lois said in a pleasant voice as she held out a white butcher-style apron. She wore a red sleeveless blouse instead of a red T-shirt like Hannah did, but the middle-aged woman’s jeans were just as well worn as Hannah’s. Mark had gotten to know Lois in the past few weeks and he gave her a brief smile as she nodded to him. She was the one who had told him Hannah would be starting her new job today.

      “The newest piece of our unofficial uniform,” Lois said as she focused on Hannah again.

      Hannah took the apron, but did not reach to put it on over her head. “My father just had a traffic accident.” She spoke to Lois and then turned to Mark. “He wasn’t hurt bad, was he?”

      “I didn’t see the other car, but it looked like a fender bender from what I could see,” Mark answered. “We could contact the hospital. If he’s unconscious, he can’t call anyone.”

      “Oh,” Hannah exclaimed, sounding even more worried as she laid the apron over a nearby chair.

      “He probably only has a bruise or two,” Mark said, wishing he hadn’t said anything about the man being unconscious.

      “If you want to go to the hospital, you should,” Lois said as she put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “I usually do the early shift by myself