The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen
Page 1
The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen
a saga novel
by Debra Kayn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen, a saga novel
1st release: Copyright© 2021 Debra Kayn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Debra Kayn. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
www.debrakayn.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part Two
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part Three
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Part Four
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part Five
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Part Six
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
—SNEAK PEEK— | The Sandbar Saga by Debra Kayn
Part One | Katie | Chapter 1
Dedication
To all the women who are living each day with the one they love.
May you have more days, more nights, and many more seconds together.
Part One
She waited for something to happen to her. Something colorful and exciting. Little did she know, her life was more colorful than anyone else's.
Chapter 1
A GROUP OF MEN TALKED loudly around the burning barrel behind the building. Marla tiptoed to the picnic table without anyone noticing. She lifted the beer can left behind and brought it to her mouth, guzzling until there was nothing left.
The musky taste almost as good as a burger from McDonald's.
Not the Happy Meal cheeseburger her mom bought her for her eighth birthday, but the bigger hamburger with the special sauce her mom would eat when she remembered there wasn't food in the house.
Sometimes, if she stayed extra quiet, her mom fell asleep while eating. Marla was always waiting nearby, ready to save the food before it dropped on the dirty floor. During those times, she'd eat because her mom always forgot about the food when she woke up.
Finders keepers.
Hurrying back to her hiding spot underneath the bushes at the corner of the building, she waited for the men to go back inside.
Her stomach growled, eating her insides. She wrapped her arms around her middle, afraid the noise would alert them to her presence.
She hadn't eaten in three days. It was the longest she'd gone without food since the police took her mom away.
Usually, when her mom left her, she would always find soda crackers and cheese in the kitchen. There was always cheese.
She hated cheese, especially the kind her mom bought that came in plastic-covered slices. But right now, she'd eat a grilled cheese sandwich. She was that hungry.
She peered out from behind a branch on the bush and squinted. If she couldn't find leftover food soon, she'd need to walk back to the shed and try again tomorrow.
It was getting dark, and the mean dog on the other side of the field always came out at night and would chase her.
She hugged her middle. The pain returned again at the thought of going back to the shed.
The landlord had locked the house two days after her mom left and put a paper on the door too high for her to read. But he forgot to close the padlock on the shed's door in the backyard.
The shed was her home now until her mom returned. Afraid the landlord would return and lock her inside if he found the door open, she hid whenever he came around.
He was always mean, coming to the house and yelling at her mom about paying rent. She was scared of him.
The men's voices quieted. She leaned forward on her knees. Excitement about getting a chance to eat what they'd left on the picnic table made her want to pee.
They were going inside.
Saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth. She wiped her hand across her face, almost tasting the food. The last time she chanced stealing their leftovers, they'd had big, thick meat she'd never seen before. While it was hard to chew, she'd eaten everything she fit in her pockets and took back to the shed.
The men disappeared inside. She wiggled out from under the bush and started counting.
"One. Two. Three," she whispered as she crouched on her feet. "Four. Five..."
She looked all around and stood.
"Six. Seven." She forced herself to go slower, knowing she was not waiting long enough to see if it was safe. "Eight. Nine."
She stepped forward. "Ten."
Running to the picnic table, she stepped up on the wooden bench and pulled all the paper plates scattered on the surface toward her. Her chest pounded, scooping up stray potato chips that were left behind, fallen pieces of lettuce, and crumbs of bread. She shoved them all in her mouth, unable to wait until she got back to the shed.
Her stomach talked, telling her to eat more. She picked up a plate and licked the ketchup off the paper. It was sweeter than candy.
Scrambling underneath the table, she looked for any scraps that had fallen. Her throat got smaller, and she opened her mouth to breathe.
"Hey, what are you doing?" bellowed a man.
She froze, curling against her knees, trying to make herself invisible. Without moving her head, she looked toward the door of the back of the building.
Big, black boots thunked against the ground and stopped at the corner of the table. Afraid to move in case she made noise, she ignored the pain in her palms from the pebbles on the asphalt digging into her hands.
The man walked to the side of the table. She leaned away from him, unable to see his upper body.
A hand appeared underneath the table. She jerked, but her legs wouldn't work.
His fingers grabbed her shirt. She wrapped her hands around his wrist, pushing him away, but he wouldn't let go.
A whimper escaped her mouth as he dragged her toward him. He lifted her off the ground by her shirt. She gasped, reaching out for the bench, the table, the air, anything to help her get away.
Plunked onto her feet, she scurried away from the large presence in front of her. He dragged her back to him.
"Hold on, you little mouse." He shook her, causing her to cry out. "What the fuck?"
He hauled her up to her tiptoes. She raised her gaze and glared at him.
"You'r
e a little girl," he mumbled.
His mean eyes widened. She panted, seeing the moon in his brown eyes. Her mom always swore mean people were missing the moon-shaped light in their eyes.
He set her on top of the picnic table and planted his boot on the bench, leaning toward her. She glanced at the empty plates.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Kids at school always made fun of her name and called her Marble. All she wanted to be was a girl with two first names like Beth Ann and Sadie Lee.
So, she lied. "Marla...Marie."
He let go of her shirt and narrowed his eyes. "Marla Marie, huh?"
She crossed her arms in front of her. He wasn't supposed to touch her. Every kid knew only moms and dads could touch kids.
"What are you doing hanging around back here?" He sat down on the bench.
She looked at him harder now that his back was to her. He had a lot of hair. She fingered the end of her strands. His weren't as long as hers. She pulled her hair straight down to her leg.
Like the men who used to come over to the house and drink with her mom, he smelled like smoke and alcohol. She touched the leather vest and jerked her hand away, afraid he'd slap her.
"Don't your folks want you at home?" He looked up at the sky. "You're losing daylight."
Her stomach ached. Nobody knew her mom wasn't home.
Since school was out for the summer, even her teacher wouldn't know what happened to her mom.
"You don't talk much, do you?" He looked over his shoulder at her.
She lifted her shoulder. There was nothing to say. He was nosy.
"You've got ketchup on your forehead." He nudged her leg. "Hungry?"
She swallowed, rubbing the sticky spot on her face. As if her stomach answered him, her belly growled.
"Want a burger?" He stood and faced her. "What do you say, Marla Marie?"
Only because she liked hearing him say her first and middle name together as if they were one, she nodded.
He lifted his chin. "Come on."
He walked to the back door. She jumped off the picnic table and turned to run off but stopped. Looking at the open door, the man had gone inside. He wasn't going to chase her.
She leaned, trying to see inside. Slowly walking to the building, she peered down the hallway and spotted a bunch of people inside.
Music played, and the clank of pool balls sent shivers up her spine. A haze of smoke hovered near the ceiling. There were so many colors and lights.
Nobody appeared to pay any attention to the empty hallway. She crept forward, inching toward the door.
The aroma of something cooking hung thick in the air. She followed the wall, ready to turn and run if anyone tried to touch her.
Making it to the main room, she hovered at the entrance and looked around at all the people. Most of the men wore a black vest. Women's loud laughter filled the soft parts of the song playing loudly in the building. She stuck her head into the room and looked for the man who offered her food.
She found him behind the counter. He talked with another man and motioned her forward. Glancing around, she darted through the crowd and made it to the round stools without anyone touching her.
The man set a white plate in front of her with the biggest hamburger she'd ever seen on it. "If you don't like tomatoes, pick it off the burger."
Surprised he'd let her do that, she crawled up onto the stool. Her legs dangled without her feet touching the floor.
He slid the plate closer. "Fries will be ready in a second. Go ahead and eat."
She waited until he turned away and talked to another man by a doorway in the back, and then she picked up the hamburger, holding the meal in both of her hands. She opened her mouth as wide as she could and bit into the burger.
The warmth hit her stomach. She quickly chewed and took another bite. Starving, she tried to eat as fast as she could before the man came back. Afraid he'd make her pay, she kept an eye on him as she chewed. She had no money to pay for food.
The nice man, who let her eat, pushed through the swinging door and left. She wiped her mouth off with her arm and glanced around. There were no kids in the building, only adults playing pool and talking.
"Careful. They're hot."
She jerked around, only to have the man put a large plate of French fries in front of her. Her mouth watered, seeing the salt sparkling on the fries.
He set a ketchup bottle in front of her with a grin. "You probably want some of this to dip them in and cool 'em off."
He unscrewed the lid. She snatched up the bottle as soon as it hit the counter and shook it over the plate.
The man gave the bottom of the bottle a couple thumps for her. She picked up a fry, dipping it first. She shoved half of it in her mouth, unable to close her lips because her tongue burned.
The man kept looking at her. She eyed his chest and read his patch. WACOM.
"You know what that says?" He pointed to the patch.
She looked away and picked up her burger. Did he think she couldn't read?
None of her spelling lists ever had the word WACOM on it before. She didn't want him to find out that she had no idea what the word meant.
He straightened and moved away. She glanced after him, making sure he wasn't going to take the food away.
Attacking her hamburger, she ate as fast as she could swallow, afraid he'd get angry if she took too long or make her pay for the meal. She scooted her butt on the stool until her toe touched the floor and stayed in that position, prepared to run if he started being mean.
She eyed a napkin dispenser and leaned along the counter, taking one of the white papers. Gazing at the man who'd given her the food to make sure he wasn't looking, she picked up a handful of fries and set them on the napkin, wrapping them, and holding on to the bundle. It was too big to put in her pocket.
"Dutch!"
The man looked around and then lifted his chin at a group by one of the pool tables. "Give me a minute."
She looked behind her to see who he was talking to, and an old man lifted his arm and threw something across the room.
Dutch? She'd never heard anyone called that name before.
Voices grew louder behind her. She crammed another fry into her mouth before she'd swallowed her bite of burger. Her stomach rumbled. Used to the gnawing and angry sounds, she wanted to calm her hunger.
Intent on eating, she ran out of ketchup. She blindly reached for the bottle while taking another bite.
Dutch approached her. "I've got it."
She jerked her hand back and slipped off the stool. The temptation to finish the fries kept her from running out of the building.
"Sit up and stay still." He frowned. "You need something to drink? Milk or something?"
He walked away. She climbed back up on the stool, using the time without him nearby to dip each of the fries and shove them in her mouth.
Once she finished and used her finger to clean the ketchup that was left on the plate, she eyed the rest of her burger. She could carry that with her.
Looking around, she couldn't see Dutch in the room. She slid off the stool and skirted the people playing pool. In the hallway, she held out the bottom of her shirt, made a pouch, and dumped the bundled fries and the rest of her burger inside.
She peeked out the back door, making sure no one was around. It'd grown darker while she was inside.
"Where you going?" said a gruff voice behind her.
She shot outside and ran, cradling her leftovers to her stomach. Pumping her legs as fast as she could, she headed toward the field. There was no way she'd make it past the yellow house before the big, brown dog was let outside.
She waited for something to happen to her. Something colorful and exciting. Little did she know, her life was more colorful than anyone else's.
Chapter 2
DUTCH REMOVED HIS SKULLCAP from his back pocket and walked out of the pool hall's front door. He pulled the tight material over his head.
"Are you leaving alre
ady?" Kimball, an MC brother from the Moses Lake Chapter of WACOM Motorcycle Club, stepped away from the building.
As a member of the Bellevue Chapter, Dutch visited the Moses Lake and Spokane Chapter in a continual loop, making sure business was taken care of and only staying as long as he was needed to keep the laundered money route on schedule.
"Just going for a ride." He threw his leg over the seat, started his bike, and rode away.
Two little legs couldn't outrun him.
He'd find the girl and make sure she got home safely. She shouldn't be out after dark. Not at her age.
He'd never seen such a scrawny kid with knots in her hair and dirt on her face who ate like a grown-ass man before. Maybe he'd slip her parents some money to feed and clean her up.
He spotted movement in a field south of the county road heading out of town. Slowing down, he studied the area, straining to see in the darkness. It could be a deer or a fucking cow.
He rode forward, suspecting it was a lone girl, running in the night. A girl young enough, she shouldn't be allowed out of sight of the house, where her parents should be keeping a good eye on her.
Seeing her eating like a dog, wolfing down the scraps of food off the picnic table, angered him. He had a good childhood, but there were hardships between barely surviving with a single mother supporting two kids and Children's Protective Service stepping in on occasions, but he'd never gone without food.
He slowed along the highway, made a U-turn, and then cut across the road, parking next to the field. Making sure he was out of traffic, he cut the engine and studied the land, trying to find the child.
Several minutes later, the kid's form grew clearer in his vision. Her uneven gallop and uncoordinated movements marked an erratic path.
Angered that she was out in the night by herself, he made sure he stayed on his motorcycle to keep from shaking some sense into her. It wasn't her fault.
Some people shouldn't have kids.
The girl stumbled out of the field twenty feet from him and stopped before falling to her knees. Despite his intentions to stay away from her, he got off the Harley and strode toward her.
She looked up at him. The desperation and fear apparent in her gaze before her upper body pitched forward, and she vomited in front of him, barely missing his boots.