His Dry Creek Inheritance

by Janet Tronstad

  Mark saw that she was settled before he left to drive the pickup over to its regular parking place. Bailey walked into the kitchen, set the covered dish on the counter and put some hot water on to boil. She figured tea or hot chocolate would warm everybody up while they waited for their dinner to cook.

  Then she peeled back the foil on the covered dish and nodded to herself. It looked good with lots of spicy taco meat, chips and chopped onion. Everything was covered with a thick sprinkling of grated cheddar cheese. She decided to let it all thaw a little more while the oven heated.

  “What’s to eat?” Rosie asked from the doorway to the kitchen. The girl had taken her coat off and was holding her arms close to her chest to keep warm. “I’m hungry.”

  “Taco casserole,” Bailey said. “When the oven starts to heat up, it will take the chill out of the air.”

  Rosie nodded. “I like taco stuff.”

  “Me, too,” Bailey said. “And I’m going to cook some corn to go with it.”

  Mark was back in the living room when she returned. The casserole was in the oven and the corn was waiting on the stove for the last-minute heating.

  Bailey sat down in the recliner and tried to get herself comfortable. No one had ever told her before how many aches and pains a pregnant woman could have. Her ankles were swollen, her joints ached and her spine acted like it was burdened with one of those prize-winning pumpkins strapped to her back. Even her eyeballs hurt.

  Mark had his damp coat draped over a side chair and his boots sitting on the welcome rug. The scent of wet wool was starting to mix with the smell of the casserole. Somehow that wet wool odor seemed very male to her, reminding her that it was nice to have a man in the house for Sunday dinner.

  “I brought some laundry over this morning when I came to breakfast,” Mark said. “After we eat, I’ll do a couple of loads. Some sheets and towels.”

  “I could do it for you,” Bailey said with a yawn, caught in the pleasantness of Mark’s company. Then she remembered she was moving slow and would be doing good to get through the upcoming meal. As she grew warmer, her eyes started to droop. She forced herself to open them wide. That’s when she saw Mark watching her with a smile on his face.

  “You just sit tight and take a nap if you can,” Mark said. “It’s just Rosie and me here. I’ll read some until dinner is ready and we’ll find something for her to do.”

  “You’ll wake me?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  Bailey smiled as she curled up in the chair. Mark might not be interested in getting married, but he sure sounded domesticated. “Don’t let me forget the oven either. In thirty minutes or so, it will be ready. I set the timer, but it doesn’t always work.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mark said. “I’ve got it all covered.”

  Bailey’s mind drifted easily then. The howl of the wind was soothing. The spicy smell from the kitchen was comforting. And she was so very tired. It felt good to have her family safe inside when the storm was swirling outside. It never even occurred to her to question the picture in her mind when she thought of family. It was Rosie and her with Mark right between them as though he were their anchor. He sure was a nice man.

  Chapter Nine

  Mark read until he finished every line of the cattle magazine that had been lying on the coffee table. Prices were, apparently, up in the beef industry. Red Angus cattle were growing in popularity. All along, as he read the magazine, he had been watching Rosie work on her coloring book at the other end of the small table. She was now scribbling furiously and everything on the page in front of her was coming out red and pink.

  “What’s the picture?” Mark said as he stood and walked over to Rosie. He saw that she had put down a newspaper under her coloring book just like her mother had done for her earlier.

  “Good for you,” Mark said, pointing at the covering.

  Rosie smiled. “I’m coloring a picture for Mommy. She puts them on the refrigerator.”

  “I’m sure she does,” Mark agreed as he looked closer at the page. “Are those flowers?”

  “Balloons,” Rosie said and then paused before saying softly, “Mommy said a bad word.”

  Mark wasn’t sure he’d heard the girl right. “What?”

  “Mommy said a bad word,” Rosie repeated, seeming to expect something from him. She was smiling, like she deserved to be praised.

  “I don’t think your mother said anything,” Mark said, frowning. What was she talking about? “I was sitting in the room and I didn’t hear anything.”

  “I heard,” Rosie said. Her smile was fading, but she still looked like she was due a bit of praise.

  “You couldn’t have,” Mark said, bewildered. “And keep your voice down so you don’t wake your mother.”

  Rosie looked up at him then and he saw her expression crumble. “You don’t want to know the word?”

  Her smile was gone and distress filled her face. The girl was starting to cry.

  “Look, there’s no need for tears,” Mark said, feeling helpless as he could see the tears start to roll down her cheeks.

  Rosie didn’t answer; she just suddenly threw down her crayon. Then she stood up and ran down the hall to her room.

  The sound of running feet must have awakened Bailey because she opened her eyes and looked around. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” Mark admitted. He could hear the sound of sobs coming from the girl’s bedroom. “Rosie and I were sitting here talking about the picture she was coloring. And she said you had said a bad word and I said that couldn’t be. You were sleeping. And she started to cry and ran to her room.”

  Mark felt like a raw recruit who didn’t understand even the basic things he should know. “She’s still there, crying from the sounds of it.”

  “Oh,” Bailey said like she understood everything. She uncurled herself so she sat straight in the recliner. “I should have talked to her earlier.”

  “What did I do wrong?” Mark asked.

  Bailey put her hands on the arms of the chair in preparation for standing. “Nothing. This is Junior’s doing. He made a game with Rosie of ‘what did Mommy do wrong.’ Mostly it was Mommy said a bad word. But it was his way of asking Rosie to spy on me for him. Rosie didn’t understand what he was about, of course. I only know because he told me he was going to catch me in my affair because he was training Rosie to rat me out—those were his words.”

  “Junior did that?” Mark was horrified. His fists clenched without his knowledge. If the man wasn’t six feet under, Mark thought, he would hunt him down and tell him what he thought of him. “How could he do that to his own daughter?”

  “I’m afraid he didn’t have much use for Rosie,” Bailey whispered as she finally stood up and steadied herself on the back of the chair. “That’s why she wanted to play the game—any game—with him. She got his attention that way. I suppose she thought you’d like the game, too.”

  Mark shook his head. He was speechless. “I would never.”

  “She didn’t know how you’d feel,” Bailey said as she turned to the hallway. “She hasn’t known many men. Just Eli. And he wouldn’t pay any attention to her either.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mark said. For so many things. For the first time, he wondered if he shouldn’t have come back to Dry Creek much sooner. Maybe he could have helped Bailey and Rosie.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bailey turned and said as she started to walk.

  “I didn’t do anything right either,” Mark muttered to the empty space after Bailey had gone to her daughter’s room. He’d always thought that real fathers had some special knowing—that they would instinctively protect their children from heartache. Junior clearly hadn’t known a thing about how to treat Rosie. Maybe the biology of fatherhood wasn’t all he had thought it was.

  Still, Mark was sorry he had disappointed Rosie. He
was afraid he’d do it more often if she kept expecting him to fill that father role. A sweet little girl like Rosie should have a daddy like the ones they showed on television.

  Just then the timer on the oven went off.

  “I’ll get it,” Mark called out as he stood up and went into the kitchen. At least he knew what to do about a mechanical device like the timer. He turned the buzzer off with a click. Then he took a couple of pot holders from a hook beside the stove and pulled the casserole out of the oven. Everything was bubbling and the cheese had melted and browned. He set the hot dish on the wooden block that was resting on the counter, likely for that purpose. The corn looked ready to cook so he turned the heat on under the small pan.

  He had the table set and water in all of the glasses by the time Bailey and Rosie walked into the kitchen. The girl’s eyes were red, but she had stopped crying—at least for the moment.

  “Everything smells good,” Mark said in a hearty voice. Food, he knew, made the day seem brighter for everyone. His troops always felt better after a decent meal.

  “And after we eat,” Bailey said with a forced cheer, “we’re going to practice our tap dance routine. Now that we have the top hat, we’re all set. Right, sweetie?”

  Rosie looked up and nodded, but she didn’t smile.

  “She took some lessons in Miles City over the summer,” Bailey said to Mark. “She never had a top hat until now though so that will be special. She was the best in the class. Everyone said so.”

  He noticed Rosie smile slightly when her mother spoke of her success.

  “I like to tap,” she whispered. “I like the sound my feet make.”

  “Can I watch?” Mark asked and Rosie glanced up at him shyly. He felt a need to entertain her and he opened his eyes wide as though he’d just thought of something. “But, of course, I’ll have to be here. You’ll need to use my cane and, without it, I’ll be stranded.”

  Rosie looked at him uncertainly.

  He winked at her. “You know, I can walk without my cane, but there’s no place I’d rather be than right in the living room watching you.”

  “We need to be in the kitchen,” Rosie said, looking more relaxed. “There’s carpet in the living room. No one can do taps on carpet. I need this—” She gestured to the linoleum floor.

  Mark hit his forehead and said in an exaggerated voice. “What was I thinking?”

  Rosie giggled at that. The sound was fleeting, but the block of regret that was lodged inside Mark melted. He might not be any good at relating to little girls, but at least he wasn’t doing any lasting damage.

  Bailey and Rosie sat down at the kitchen table and Mark brought the casserole dish and bowl of corn over, and set them in the center of the table.

  “We need napkins,” Rosie announced happily and she slipped down from her chair and went to a cabinet drawer near the sink. She pulled the drawer open and pulled out a handful of colorful paper napkins.

  “Princess,” Rosie announced as she placed the crumpled napkins on the top of the table. “Pink ones.”

  Bailey looked at Mark apologetically and then turned back to her daughter. “I’m not sure Mark will want a—”

  Mark interrupted. “Pink princesses are my favorite.”

  “Really?” Rosie looked at Mark in astonishment.

  Mark picked up one of the small napkins and spread it out on the table. “Absolutely. All military men like princesses.”

  Bailey gave him a skeptical glance.

  His eyes twinkled at her. “Diplomatic corps. Very important business. Princesses, you know. They have palace guards.”

  By that time, he had the napkin firmly settled on his good knee.

  “Can I have a palace guard?” Rosie asked, all of her sadness gone now. Her head bounced in excitement. She looked at Mark as though he could make her dreams come true.

  “I don’t know,” Mark said, thinking fast. “As I recall some of the princesses have palace guard dogs. Maybe we could train our new friend to stand duty.”

  “Poor doggie?” Rosie said skeptically. “He wouldn’t know how. He’s awfully skinny. And he doesn’t even have a name.”

  “He’s eating good,” Mark defended the canine. “He’ll get stronger every day. And you only need a guard dog for official princess business so he’ll have lots of time to get in shape. And he’ll have a name by then.”

  “What name?” Rosie asked.

  Mark hated to say he didn’t know, but he hadn’t given it any thought.

  “We’ll figure it out soon,” he said and that seemed to satisfy her.

  Bailey called them to prayer and they all bowed their heads. Bailey thanked God for their day and for the food they were going to eat. Mark decided he could get used to thanking God for the food that he ate. It was only right.

  * * *

  Before long, they had finished eating and Bailey stood up.

  “I’ll clean up,” Mark said as he got up quickly. “You just sit and relax.”

  “I was only going to gather up what I need to make those cookies,” Bailey said as she started to walk toward the cabinets. “They won’t take long to stir up.”

  “I’m the one going to the Bakers,” Mark said. “I’m the one who should make the cookies.”

  Bailey looked at him. “Have you ever made cookies?”

  “Well, no, but I’ve had KP duty in the service,” he said. “It was mostly peeling potatoes, but how hard could cookies be? There’s not a potato cookie, is there?”

  “Not that I know of,” Bailey said with an exaggerated grimace. “I’m not sure the Baker boys would eat them if there was one either. And they’d probably be hard.”

  “Good,” Rosie said forcefully. “Bad boys don’t get nice cookies in class.”

  Bailey looked over at Mark and he turned to smile at her. He was taking the used dishes over to the sink.

  “We’re not in class,” Bailey said, turning back to her daughter. “We want to give them cookies.”

  Rosie shrugged. “Maybe you could put something besides raisins in the cookies.”

  “Like what?” Bailey asked. “I don’t think we have any nuts. Or dried apples.”

  “Pickles,” Rosie said. “We could put pickles in them.”

  Before Bailey could even reply, Rosie started to giggle. “Sour pickles.”

  “I better not see you put anything but love and kisses into these cookies,” Bailey said, teasing her daughter with a stern voice.

  “Yuckee yuck,” Rosie said. “No kisses for any boys.”

  “What if you have a new baby brother coming?” Bailey asked. “Wouldn’t he get any kisses?”

  Rosie stood there with her eyes going wide and then she raced over and planted her lips on Bailey’s stomach.

  “Kisses for baby,” Rosie said.

  In an hour, the dishes were done, Mark had finished his laundry and Bailey had the last batch of raisin cookies in the oven.

  “Time to practice our taps,” Bailey announced as she went out into the laundry room and brought back the portable CD player she and Rosie used.

  She brought back a classic tap CD and set it up in the player.

  By then Rosie had brought her tap shoes and her new top hat out of her room and was coming into the kitchen.

  “Where’s Markie?” Rosie asked and the man came out of the laundry room.

  “I’m right here,” he said as he sat down at one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Then he held out his cane. “You can use this if you want.”

  Bailey smiled. “I might use it. Rosie needs the shorter one.”

  Rosie was already putting on her tap shoes.

  Mark started to stand, keeping his eyes on Bailey. “You can’t be skipping around the kitchen trying to tap with this cane.”

  He was frowning.

  “Why not?” she aske
d.

  “I would think that would be obvious,” Mark said. “You can’t afford a fall. You can sit and let Rosie dance around you, but that’s about all that’s safe.”

  “Spoilsport,” Bailey said and then sighed. “You’re right, I know.”

  Over the summer, when Rosie was taking her lessons, Bailey had been able to do the steps with her. Reluctantly, Bailey pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. She was a far cry from where she’d been this past summer.

  “You can do the beat for me, Mommy,” Rosie called out. She had brought the short cane out from her room and looked adorable in her top hat.

  Bailey stood again and walked over to turn on the CD player. She’d already programmed it for the old love song Rosie wanted for her Valentine’s Day dance routine. Then Bailey went back to her chair and sat down.

  Rosie stood at attention as the music started. She swayed with the rhythm for a few seconds and then she gave a quick twirl with her short cane, angling her foot to take that first critical tap. Within seconds her little girl was flying. Bailey clapped out the beat softly so her daughter could hear. The staccato taps of her daughter’s steps hit firm and then they faltered.

  Rosie had stopped. “I need help, Mommy. I can’t twirl by myself.”

  Bailey started to rise from her chair. “I can stand—”

  “No,” Mark said. “I will stand here and help her twirl. You need to stay safely in that chair.”

  Bailey sat back down. She had to admit she wasn’t used to having someone worry about her. She supposed every pregnant woman needed someone to do that. For a second, the image of Emma flashed through her mind. She hoped the young woman had someone who would fuss over her so she didn’t fall. Or not eat enough. Or worry herself into the dismals.

  Soon the music was absorbing all Bailey’s attention and the image of the younger woman faded. Rosie was dancing her heart out, a big smile on her face and her copper-red curls bouncing in time with the song she had chosen—something about two Valentine lovers who couldn’t be together and who missed each other on the special day. Bailey didn’t know the tune, but it was one that the instructor in Rosie’s class had used for some of his lessons.