by Brenda Novak
She grinned at the jealousy in his voice. Tyson hadn’t shaved today. She liked the shadow of beard growth that covered his jaw, the unruliness of his short, thick hair, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “Give poor Joe a break.”
“If he doesn’t back off, I’m going to give him a black eye.”
“Why are you so threatened by him?” she asked.
“Because he’s just a little too eager to see me gone.”
She grew serious as she smoothed a finger over the cowlick above Tyson’s forehead. “That doesn’t matter. You can take me or leave me, remember?”
He gave her a funny look but he didn’t say anything, just held the door while she got in the car.
* * *
“DO I LOOK AS IF we’ve been messing around?” Dakota asked, sounding self-conscious.
Tyson hid a satisfied smile as he cut the engine of the Ferrari and lowered the garage door, pausing long enough to pick a pine needle out of her hair. “Do you want the truth?”
Twisting the rearview mirror so she could see into it, she attempted to make more repairs. “Not if you have to ask that.”
He leaned toward her, making the most of the light shed by the automatic garage door opener, which would shortly snap off and leave them in darkness. “For what it’s worth, I think you look sexy as hell,” he said and meant every word of it. But maybe that was because it was his kisses that had left her mouth a little swollen, his razor stubble that had chafed the soft skin of her cheek and neck, his hands that had explored every inch of her body.
She eyed the door that led beneath a covered walkway to the cabin. “Why don’t you go in and play host while I drive to town, visit my father and pick up the baby?”
Braden. Oddly enough, Tyson was eager to have him back, too. And it had nothing to do with worry. He knew Hannah would be taking excellent care of him. “You’re done with the party?”
“I’m afraid our plan has failed miserably.”
“You got laid, didn’t you?” he teased.
She grimaced. “By the wrong guy.”
Sobering, Tyson sat up. He didn’t like her response, but he couldn’t correct her. He was the wrong guy. They’d both known it from the beginning.
“It’s okay to have a little fun before you settle down.” At least he hoped it’d be okay. He didn’t want to hurt Dakota just because he couldn’t keep his hands off her.
“Yeah. No worries. This is casual.”
There was that word again. But this wasn’t casual. He knew because he was the king of casual, and what he felt for Dakota was completely different. He’d tried to tell her that. But she wouldn’t believe him, and he didn’t have a better label for their relationship, so he let it go. “You don’t think your father will realize you’ve been making love with me? You look like you’re just about ready to light the proverbial cigarette.”
She laughed at the mental image his words evoked. “I’ll tell him I was out in the garden, working. He’d buy that excuse before anyone at the party would, after seeing me come in with you.”
“Your father’s pretty leery of me.”
“I know. He warned me not to sleep with you.”
“He did?” Tyson felt about two inches tall. He’d been trying to protect her from Skelton, and Skelton had been trying to protect her from him. “It’s just sex,” he said a bit defensively. “It’s not like I’ve been torturing you. You liked it, too, right?”
“It’s just sex,” she repeated, but her voice sounded a little odd, and she got out instead of answering his question.
“If you’ll wait until later, I’ll go to town with you. We could have dinner at the diner. Take some to your father.”
“I’d rather go alone, if that’s okay.”
She was pushing him away again, like last night. He hesitated, uncomfortable with her change of mood, but then he told himself that maybe she needed the space. “Take the Ferrari, at least.”
“No. I’ll call you when I’m heading back. If I don’t arrive in forty minutes, you’ll know I got stranded.”
“Why not take my car?”
“I just…want to find the old me.”
“You haven’t changed,” he said.
She flashed him a mysterious smile. “Have fun.”
He didn’t know how to respond. “You won’t be gone long, will you?”
“What time do I need to have Braden home?”
“I’d like you both back before dark. I don’t trust that hunk of junk you’re driving.”
“Okay,” she said.
He sighed, trying to shake the uneasiness that crept over him as he watched her drive away. Then he went inside. But it wasn’t half an hour later that he got a call from the police chief—a call that told him he should never have let her go to her father’s alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Grandpa Garnier: You can never step in the same river twice.
DAKOTA KNEW something was wrong the moment she pulled up to her father’s mobile home. The police chief’s car sat out front, the driver’s door standing open as if he’d made a mad dash for the house. Several of the neighbors stood around, shuffling their feet, smoking or murmuring to each other. They watched her pull up and, when she got out, stared at the ground.
“What is it?” she asked. She left her purse in the passenger’s seat, suddenly unconcerned about such practical matters.
Fanny Duluth, who owned the mobile home closest to them, exchanged a meaningful glance with her husband. Then her chest lifted, and she stepped forward. “He’s gone, honey. I found him when I came over to borrow some coffee this morning. He must’ve passed right after Terrance left, because I’ve called him and he was as surprised as anyone.”
He’s gone…The words seem to echo in Dakota’s head, bouncing around several times before they made any sense. “But…” The rest of her words wouldn’t come out. She’d been about to say, “That can’t be true. I spoke to him last night. He said he was fine, that he didn’t need anything.”
But she knew what Fanny said was true. The man who had been both a curse and a blessing was no longer part of her life. Just like that—in the blink of an eye—he’d been erased. She felt such a mixture of emotions she didn’t know how to react, but guilt seemed to hit her hardest. In her most secret moments, she’d wished for the freedom this moment signified and felt that it was her wish that had caused her father’s death.
“Are you okay?” another neighbor asked, concern clouding her face.
Dakota didn’t know. “How’d it happen?” she managed to ask.
“Dr. Hatcher’s on his way. He’ll determine the exact cause of death. But we all know Skelton was sick, real sick. This is a blessing, honey. For both of you.”
A blessing…She’d lost her father, the man who’d taught her to tie her shoes and ride a bike and drive. And it was a blessing.
“At least he’s no longer in pain. And you’re finally free to live your own life.”
Dakota lifted a hand as she struggled to swallow past the lump clogging her throat. Her father probably wasn’t even cold yet and the neighbors were already telling her how much better off she’d be. “Don’t, please,” she said and started toward the house.
“I’m not sure you should go in there,” Fanny called after her, but Dakota was out of reach before she could do anything to stop her, and the others didn’t even try. Some murmured a quick, “I’m sorry, Dakota, real sorry,” but they didn’t expect an answer, and she didn’t give them one. Her thoughts and emotions were too jumbled. She’d been in the mountains making love with Tyson, having the most wonderful time of her life, when her father had died.
Chief Clanahan turned as he heard her step in the hall. “The county coroner’s going to have Dr. Hatcher pronounce him dead and determine the cause of death.” He came toward the doorway as if to block her from entering Skelton’s room.
“I want to see him,” she said dully.
He hesitated, then nodded, and allowed her past him.
Dakota wasn’t sure what she’d expected to feel in this moment, but it was none of the relief that she’d anticipated—only loss, sorrow. And, ironically, it wasn’t the memories of their battles that crowded close, it was the times her father had joined her on a school field trip, packed a little something extra in her lunch, or came out, even though he was in a great deal of pain, to see her perform in a school play.
“God,” she muttered, her eyes blurring with tears as she took his gnarled hand. “We were quite a pair, weren’t we? And look at us now. Maybe Mom was right to leave.”
She felt Chief Clanahan squeeze her shoulder. He was trying to be nice, but he wouldn’t have felt so free to intrude on anyone else’s grief. She and her father had become a community concern, one in which he’d frequently been involved. Thanks to Tyson, Clanahan didn’t know about the knife incident, however. No one did. Dakota was more grateful for that now than ever. Public opinion of her father was already bad enough.
And then she saw it—the bottle that normally held Skelton’s pain pills, peeking out from under his bed. It was lying on its side with the lid off, empty.
She glanced up at Clanahan, wondering if he’d seen it, too. But he didn’t seem to be searching for anything out of the ordinary. Skelton had been sick for so long, he took what appeared to be a peaceful death at face value.
“Can I have a few moments alone with him?” she asked.
“Sure.” He gave her arm another pat, went out and closed the door.
Dakota bent, her chest suddenly so heavy she could hardly breathe, and retrieved the bottle. Sure enough, it was empty. And it had been renewed just last week. Mrs. Cottle had mentioned it to her when Skelton had filled his prescription.
She covered her mouth, fresh tears burning behind her eyes like hot peppers. “Tell me you didn’t do it, Daddy,” she whispered into her hand, and then she opened the drawer to find the spiral notebook he used to write down the various items he wanted her to pick up from the store. There he’d listed “ice cream” and “shaving gel,” but these had been crossed off. Beneath, in shaky handwriting she found a note.
Dakota—
Please don’t feel bad and for heaven’s sake don’t blame yourself. I know I haven’t been a very good father these past years. I’m sorry for that. Really I am. You’ve been the best daughter a man could want. I won’t hold you back any longer. I’m setting you free now, honey. I’m setting us both free. I should’ve done this a long time ago. Before I could become what I’ve become.
Live and be happy. For me.
He didn’t tell her he loved her—he didn’t need to. That was one thing she’d always known.
Dakota sank onto the bed, staring, disbelieving, at the words.
A light knock sounded at the door, allowing her no time to recover. “Give me a minute,” she said. Then she jumped up, crumpled the note and hid it and the empty pill container in Skelton’s sock drawer. Dundee already thought the worst of her father; she wouldn’t add suicide to the memories they carried of him.
“Dakota?” It was Chief Clanahan again. He spoke through the door.
“Yes?”
“Dr. Hatcher is here.”
Saying a silent prayer that old Dr. Hatcher, who was a recovering alcoholic himself, would pronounce her father dead of natural causes, she crossed the room and opened the door.
“I’m so sorry, Dakota,” he said, giving her a sympathetic frown.
She accepted his condolences with a mute nod and waved him in.
He set the bag he carried on Skelton’s cluttered dresser. Parting the drapes, Dakota stared outside, watching the wind bend the weeds behind the house while he examined her father’s body. After fifteen minutes, she couldn’t take the anxiety any longer.
“Do you know what went wrong?” she asked.
“I’m guessing it was his liver that caused it. We could do an autopsy, if you like, to determine the exact cause of death, but, in my opinion, it’d be expensive and pointless. We all know how ill he was.”
“It’s my choice?” She continued to gaze out the window, wondering how many times she’d stared out at that same scene as a child.
“You’re the one who’d have to pay for it, so yes, it’s your decision.”
Dakota opened her mouth to reply, but before she could get the words out, someone else spoke.
“I’ll pay for one if you want it.”
Tyson. Dakota turned to see him standing in the doorway, tense, upset, his eyes eagerly seeking hers.
“No. No autopsy,” she said. Encouraged by the calm in her own voice, she repeated Dr. Hatcher’s words so no one would question her. “We all know how ill he was.”
Everyone also knew about his alcohol abuse and the bumps and bruises he’d given her. But they’d forgotten the man they’d known before the accident.
That was the man Dakota chose to remember.
* * *
FOR DAKOTA, the next few days passed in a blur. She spent them sorting through her father’s belongings, putting those items that held sentimental value in boxes in a corner of Gabe’s father’s basement—Gabe had volunteered the space and his parents had quickly promised she could use it as long as she needed—getting the mobile home ready for sale, or rent if she couldn’t sell it, and planning and attending the funeral. She would’ve felt completely isolated and alone, despite the flowers and cards she received and the platitudes she heard daily, if it weren’t for Tyson, who was there through it all. He helped her pack and move the boxes, gave input on the decisions for the funeral, and made her eat regardless of her lack of appetite.
His emotional support helped her limp through the worst of the aftermath. He supported her financially, too. He’d surprised her by walking into the trailer one day while she was worrying over a stack of unpaid bills, and had offered to pay them. When she refused to let him, he’d insisted on giving her all her wages in advance, which had enabled her to catch up on the house and car payments, at least. And although the owners of the funeral home wouldn’t say who’d stepped forward to help with the burial expenses, she knew that was probably him, too.
They slept together every night, but the one time they’d made love had been like nothing Dakota had experienced with Tyson so far. His touch wasn’t fevered or passionate; it was more like a gentle “I’m here,” which he’d initiated only after he’d awakened to find her standing at the window. Worried because she wasn’t sleeping well, he even got up with Braden if he heard him cry in the night.
A week after the funeral, he stood in the doorway, watching her rock the baby. “How long have you been up?”
“Only a few minutes,” she lied.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” She could see him in the moonlight streaming through Braden’s window. He was wearing nothing but a pair of briefs and a tired expression, but she loved the way he moved, the way he spoke, even his lack of concern over his nudity. She loved everything about him. And that was the problem. She couldn’t imagine living without him or Braden. But she needed to figure out how she was going to do just that.
“I didn’t hear him cry,” he said apologetically.
Because he hadn’t cried. Dakota had slipped into his room and, as she’d looked down on him sleeping so peacefully and thought about how soon he and Tyson would be leaving, she’d had the irresistible urge to hold him in these quiet hours, when Tyson wasn’t around to see how difficult it was going to be for her to let go.
“He’ll be walking soon,” she murmured.
“When do most babies walk?”
“Around a year.”
“We’ll have to pad every corner.”
She didn’t respond. She wasn’t part of that we and she knew it
. As the silence grew, he rubbed his eyes, then scuffed one foot against the carpet. “Are you going to L.A. with me?” he finally asked.
It was at least the third time he’d asked her. “No.”
Folding his arms, he leaned against the doorjamb. “What will you do?”
She wasn’t sure. Contemplating that very question made it difficult to relax long enough to eat or sleep. She had so few options. She couldn’t travel very far, because she didn’t have the money. She couldn’t get a decent job because she had no real education. She couldn’t get a college degree because she didn’t have any way to put herself through. She knew there were ways around such obstacles, other people overcame them every day, but she couldn’t see a clear path yet. “I might move to Portland, work and go to school.”
“What about visiting your mother? Now might be a good time to get acquainted with her.”
He could let her go so easily. “Not yet. Maybe later, when I’m back on my feet,” she said, but her feelings for her mother were too complicated to throw South America into the mix.
“I’ll miss you,” he said quietly.
She smiled. Didn’t speak.
“Most people would say something like, ‘I’ll miss you, too.’”
She laughed softly. He had no idea. “You’ll be fine. You’ll have football to keep you busy. And Braden.”
Coming into the room, he lifted the baby from her arms and put him back into the crib. Then he held out his hand to her.
She kept the smile fixed on her face as she accepted it, feeling his long fingers curl securely through hers as they walked back to his bedroom. But, closing the door behind them, he leaned against it, instead of proceeding to the bed, and she turned back in surprise. “What is it?”
“Why not come to L.A. for a few months? You’ve never been, right?”
Of course not. She’d never been anywhere. “No, I need to start plans for going to school.”
He crossed the room and slipped his arms around her, which shortened the T-shirt she was wearing—his T-shirt—until it no longer covered her panties. “Why Portland?”