Prairie Fever

by Tessa Layne

  Lulah nodded vigorously, all smiles. “We played on the slide, and the swings, and we chased bad-guys.”

  That voice. Her tiny voice melted her every time. “You did? Well I have a surprise for you.”

  “Oh, goodie.”

  “We have a new friend, and he’s waiting in the kitchen to meet you.” Her heart rate must be nearly two-hundred bpm, and her hands trembled. “Shall we go say hi?”

  Lulah wriggled out of her arms, and with a little pang, Suzannah released her. In the not too distant future, she wouldn’t want to be picked up at all. Her stomach jumped into her chest as Lulah bounded ahead of her into the kitchen and stopped short, staring at the big man in front of her, patiently sitting with elbows on his knees, a look of pure joy on his face. In the next breath, his face twisted into a picture of pain. Suzannah’s chest squeezed in response, and she found herself second-guessing every decision she’d made since she’d discovered she was pregnant. “Lulah, I– I’d like you to meet our new friend. His name is Gunnar, and he’s – he’s…” He’s your dad. She took a deep breath, catching Gunnar’s eye.

  “Hi Lulah,” he interjected, voice thick and gravelly. “What your mom’s trying to say is that I help with the clinic.” He grinned at Lulah, love shining out of his eyes. Suzannah swallowed hard, determined not to cry. Gunnar continued, voice still husky at the edges. “I hear you like Batman.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Gunnar could hardly talk through the lump in his throat. She was beautiful, a precious little angel staring up at him, through enormous eyes the color of wild chicory. White blonde hair, fine as silk, waved around her tiny shoulders. Her smile was pure Suzannah, but she was obviously Hansen too. He could see it in the shape of her eyes, and in the angle of her cheekbones. He drank her in, thirsty to memorize every detail.

  Did it hurt when your heart grew exponentially? If not, he was having a heart attack. He must be having a heart attack, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and his hands felt clammy. Dread pooled low in his belly. What if something happened to Lulah? What if she got hurt? Or worse? He could hardly breathe, thinking of it. Maybe he wasn’t having a heart attack, maybe this dizzy-heavy sensation was his heart beating out of his body. On the outside – exposed and vulnerable. Whatever it took to keep his baby safe, to provide for her and protect her, he would do it. So long as she kept smiling at him like that.

  “Would you like to see my Batman costume?”

  He nodded, overcome.

  She disappeared with the lightness and speed of a fairy, bouncing into the other room. Did kids ever walk? His nephew, Henry, bounced too, everywhere. When did that stop? God, he hoped never. In a flash, he understood all of his parents’ comments about the bittersweet nature of growing older, the misty eyes at holidays and weddings. The way his father looked when he held his granddaughter Melody for the first time, and why his mother sometimes still patted him on the cheek. He fought the ball rising through his chest, expanding like a balloon. This throat tickled and grew hot.

  “Gunnar? Are you okay?”

  Fuck, no. Not remotely. He nodded, not trusting his voice, not daring to look at Suzannah for fear that tears might leak out his suddenly wet eyes. He scrubbed a hand across his face, taking a deep breath. Was this what it meant to be a parent? To be simultaneously scared shitless that something might happen to this perfect being and so filled with wonder and a kind of giddy joy, that you couldn’t tell if you were coming or going?

  Axel had mocked him for falling in insta-love with Suzannah. But isn’t that what was happening? He was falling in insta-love with his amazing, adorable, use all the adjectives in the dictionary daughter? It didn’t seem possible. And yet… how could he not?

  Lulah came bounding back in, wearing her homemade Batman cape – nothing more than a rectangle of pink fleece covered in black bats and attached to a long black ribbon, and her Batman glasses. She handed him a long, skinny block. “Here. These are your wings.” Before he could ask what to do with them, she’d whirled, lifting an identical block in the air and ‘flying’ out of the room, shouting “We have to go to the zoo” as she hurled herself into the other room.

  He looked to Suzannah for guidance, unsure of what he should be doing next. Staying seated? Following her? Flying with a block? Her eyes were soft as she tilted her head toward the living room. “It’s okay. She’ll show you what to do.”

  He stood, turning the block in his hands. This shouldn’t feel that scary. He’d played with Henry before, tossing him high while he giggled and screeched. But Henry was Henry. He pushed trucks, and played with his stuffed horse. Gunnar didn’t have the first idea of how to use blocks to fly. Lulah’s bare feet slapped on the wood floor. “Come on,” she urged, holding her block high. “We have to go to the zoo.”

  Off to the zoo he went, carefully following Lulah’s lead. He hit the jackpot when he started to make monkey sounds, and in no time flat, Lulah had him on the floor, pretending to be a lion, and then a monkey, until at last, worn out by an energetic toddler, he held up his throbbing arm. “I gotta sit, sweetheart.” He propped himself up against the sofa, cradling his injured arm, feet sprawled in front of him.

  Lulah bounced right over and settled herself on his lap, as if they’d known each other for far longer than twenty minutes. She studied the bandage on his arm, then pointed to it. “Did my mommy fix you?”

  Precocious little thing, wasn’t she? But given her mother, Gunnar wasn’t surprised. He gave her an indulgent smile. “I guess you could say that.”

  Lulah pointed to her chest. “She helped fix me, too.”

  What the heck was that supposed to mean? Fear gripped him. Had something happened to her? Broken bones? Illness? Oh god, cancer? “Did she now?” he said when he found his voice.

  Suzannah appeared in the doorway, face pinched with worry. Alarm bells sounded in his head. What was going on? Lulah didn’t look sick. She had way too much energy to be sick. She seemed normal in every possible way. Still, alarm bells sounded in his head. “Were you sick?” he asked slowly, drawing out each word.

  Lulah shook her head and pulled down the neckline of her shirt, revealing a thin, white scar running down the center of her chest. “See? My mama’s friend fixted me.”

  What the ever-loving fuck? For the second time today, Gunnar went hot, then cold. Judging from the white zipper scar that streaked down Lulah’s chest like a Harry Potter lightning bolt, his little girl had undergone heart surgery at some point.

  At first, he was overcome with bone-melting terror. A fear so strong, he tasted metal in his mouth. Far, far worse than when his Uncle Warren, and later his dad, had suffered heart attacks. This was the kind of fear that made grown men sink to their knees and blubber like babies. Profound relief followed so quickly, his hands and feet went numb. What in the hell happened? Given that the men in his family struggled with heart issues, was this some genetic something that he’d caused? And why hadn’t Suzannah mentioned anything beforehand? His gut roiled, the pie sitting in his belly like lead. It wasn’t as if she’d had the chance to tell him, the one cognizant part of his brain reasoned. What mattered was that his little girl was okay. For now.

  Suzannah gave him a pointed look, as if to say We’re not talking about this in front of Lulah.

  Like hell.

  He turned the full force of his ire toward Suzannah, glaring. “She had heart surgery?” And she hadn’t told him? That stung. The thought of his baby girl hooked up to tubes and breathing machines, without him to watch over her, killed him. Just. Killed. Him.

  “We’ll talk after dinner,” Suzannah answered firmly.

  Oh, they most definitely would.

  Suzannah turned her attention to their daughter. “Lulah. Why don’t you show Gunnar how you like to color while I cook dinner.”

  “I want to play Batman.”

  “You can play more after dinner.”

  Her lower lip started to tremble, and she crossed her arms, pouting. “No.”

 
; Gunnar fought a smile. So she’d inherited a little of the Hansen stubbornness, huh? “I’d love for you to show me your crayons,” he cajoled. “And after, I’d like to show you some things I brought over for a little girl I heard lives here. Do you know where I can find her?”

  Lulah’s eyes lit. “You have presents?”

  He shrugged, widening his eyes. “Maybe?”

  She still wasn’t convinced. Tilting her head, measuring him, she asked, “Do you like pink?”

  “It’s my favorite color,” Gunnar answered, completely serious.

  “Can you draw Batman?”

  “And unicorns.”

  Lulah’s eyes widened, and she scrambled off his lap. Hauling himself to his feet, he followed her into the tiny kitchen/dining area, and instantly became aware of Suzannah busy at the stove. “Lulah, can you show Gunnar where we keep the paper?” She turned to him, half-apologetically. “Lulah attends the Montessori preschool, and so I’ve tried to set up the house like the school, where everything she needs is within reach. It helps foster independence.”

  Ranch kids typically didn’t go to preschool, but the idea made sense to him. He remembered doing chores before he’d been old enough to attend school. Lulah pulled a piece of paper from the tiny shelf behind the table, and placed it on the table, even though the table was bigger than she was. She did the same thing with a basket of crayons, then climbed up into a tall chair that allowed her to be at the same level as everyone else. Clever. He stole a glance at Suzannah, filled with admiration. How had she managed all this on her own?

  Gunnar pulled out a second piece of paper, and dropped into the chair next to Lulah, making sure to select a pink crayon from the basket lying between them.

  “I’m drawing Batman,” she announced, drawing an organic shape with a blue crayon that didn’t resemble anything close to Batman.

  “What should I draw?”

  “Horsey,” she answered, completely absorbed in her own drawing.

  He wasn’t the greatest artist, but he could make something work for his daughter. He had a feeling she wouldn’t be a harsh critic. He turned his attention to the paper, sketching out something that mostly looked like a horse. Although it more closely resembled a Clydesdale than one of the more delicately proportioned horses in his stable. He pushed the paper to Lulah. “What about this?”

  “Make it rainbow,” she yelled excitedly.

  “Lulah. Inside voice.” This from the kitchen.

  She snatched Gunnar’s paper and waved it. “Lookey, he drawed a horsey.”

  Suzannah looked over. “Gunnar drew you a horse?” She raised her eyebrows and shot him a look of gratitude. As if this was a hardship for him. He’d just drawn his baby girl a pony. If he could have danced a jig on the table, he would have.

  “Maybe you can draw him a horse, Lulahbug,” Suzannah said as she turned back to the stove.

  Lulah began to scribble a rainbow over his horse, using long sweeping gestures. He took the chance to study her closely. From the side, he recognized a distinctly Hansen profile. But that lower lip! Even in concentration, it stuck out a bit, wrapping over her upper lip. His insides dissolved. How did parents keep any order at all? All he wanted to do was sit and watch his baby. But shit? His mother would slap him silly for sitting there while Suzannah cooked all alone. Pushing back from the table, he joined her at the stove, placing his hand at the small of her back. “How can I help?” His pulse quickened at her sharp intake of breath.

  “It’s pretty much done. I’m not much of a cook.” Again, she shot him an apologetic look.

  “I’m sure it will be delicious.” Rule number one from Martha Hansen’s farm kitchen: Never ever criticize the cook.

  She shook her head, a tiny smile curving her mouth. “We had a chef, growing up, and were banned from the kitchen. And then it was dorm food. After…” she let out a sigh. “After Lulah was born, I lived with Iris. You’ve met her.”

  The vision of her two best friends, Iris and Bailey, flanking her at the dive bar where they’d first met in Vegas, swam before him. And more recently, Iris’s dark eyes shooting daggers at him as she stood protectively in the doorway. “I remember. And Bailey, too.”

  “Iris is the best cook I’ve ever met.”

  “You haven’t met my mother.” The response was automatic, and maybe it was the wrong thing to say, but it was true. Martha cooked everything from scratch, and had insisted each of her children know how to make a dozen basic meals before they left for college.

  Suzannah chuckled, shaking her head. “So you might not want to tell her that I make a mean frozen pizza.”

  Gunnar shuddered. “Really?”

  She swung around, glaring at him, but with a smile making her mouth twitch. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.” She turned back to the stove and pulled a small pot from the burner. “You can hang the pictures on the fridge.”

  Gunnar turned back to the table to discover Lulah playing with the big unicorn pillow. Shit. He’d been so taken with Suzannah, he’d completely forgotten about the presents. “What’d you find there?” he asked, joining her at the pile of gifts.

  “Is this for me?” Lulah hugged the pillow to her chest. “Sure thing. Do you like it?”

  She nodded, then eyed the other bags. A little tendril of trepidation wound through him. Maybe he’d gone overboard after all. Well, nothing to do but own it and jump in with both feet. He cleared his throat. “Your mama and I…” he slid a glance her direction. Hell, this was uncharted territory. “We used to be friends. And we haven’t seen each other since before you were born.” He pulled his finger down her cute little button nose, loving that it triggered a smile. “So when we found each other again, and she told me about you, I got excited, and I wanted to bring you some things.”

  She narrowed her eyes, staring hard at him, still clutching the unicorn. “Are you Santa?”

  He belly laughed. “No, baby girl. Not Santa.” He pulled one of the bags closer. “You wanna see?” His chest began to flutter. He couldn’t wait to see her reaction when she peeked in the first bag. It was everything he’d hoped for, and more. A loud squeal, a princess dress full of tulle and sparkles pulled out. Crowns grabbed, wands waved, paper torn. He glanced at Suzannah. She wore the same expression his mother had on as many Christmas mornings as he could remember. Half exasperated, half charmed. Lulah tore through the remaining bags, squeals turning into yells, then shouts of exuberance. When the table was a sea of clothing, art supplies, books, and mind stimulating games, Suzannah finally stepped in. “Why don’t we put this all on the couch? I can sort it later and put it in her bins. Right now, it’s past time for dinner.”

  In short order, the table was cleared, then set, and Gunnar helped bring food to the table. Suzannah apologized while passing out the paper towels. “I know it’s not very grown-up.”

  He dropped his hand over hers. “It’s fine, Suzannah. Dinner will be delicious.”

  Except it wasn’t. The nuggets were dry, and the peas and carrots overdone. Some burned on the bottom. But he ate every bite with a smile, and was sure to take extra apple slices. Lulah stirred her vegetables around her plate, ultimately picking out the carrots and leaving the peas, instead reaching for more apples.

  “Peas before apples,” Suzannah reprimanded.

  Lulah scowled, then stuck out her lower lip. “No.”

  Suzannah looked pained. “You know the rules, bug. Veggies first.” Giving Gunnar a meaningful glance, she started in on her own pile of peas and carrots.

  He took the cue and began enthusiastically shoving the tasteless fiber balls into his mouth. “Mmm—mmm. Delicious,” he said with a big smile.

  Lulah frowned and continued to pick at her peas.

  Yep. All Hansen. Gunnar would have laughed if getting her to eat her vegetables wasn’t a serious prospect. To be honest, he couldn’t blame her. The peas were awful. “Do you have any barbecue sauce?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not so gr
eat in the kitchen.”

  “Mayo?”

  “Yes.” She started to push back from the table, but Gunnar laid a hand over hers.

  “Stay put. I’ll get it.” He stood and made his way to the fridge, but instead of bringing the jar of mayo to the table, he started pulling open cabinet doors looking for anything to make the peas palatable.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Poor man’s barbecue sauce. Hey Lulah,” he called as he pulled bottles and spices from the cabinet. “Guess what? I don’t like peas either. And you know what will help?”

  Lulah stared at him mutinously.

  “Special sauce.”

  Suzannah craned her neck to see what he was doing, but he turned his back while he worked his magic. A little mayo, a little sriracha, a little lime. Some salt and pepper. It wasn’t his best work, but it would make the peas go down. A moment later, he returned with the bowl of pinkish sauce. “What is this?” Lulah asked suspiciously.

  He raised his brows and grinned. “Try it. I promise you’ll like it.” He spooned a bit onto Lulah’s plate, and then Suzannah’s. “It should make the nuggets taste better, too.”

  “Hey, don’t judge,” Suzannah answered defensively.

  Gunnar’s grin broadened. “No one’s judging. I might have a few frozen tamales in my freezer.” He’d never disclose they were handmade by Luci Cruz, and some of the best Mexican food he’d ever enjoyed. “Here. Give it a try.” He dipped a nugget in the sauce and offered it to her. She took a bite, mouth going wide. “Ohmygod, what is that?” Her eyes crinkled and collided with his. In a flash, the mood had shifted from easy to fraught with tension. Slowly, eyes dark with promise, she licked her fingers, then wiped the crumbs from her lower lip, finishing with a swipe of her tongue.

  His mouth turned to ash. Fuck propriety, he wanted to leap across the table and lick every last drop of sauce from her mouth.