Dakota Blues

by Lynne Spreen

“Ladies and gentlemen, who knew that right here in our midst we have such a rich diversity of artists? Such talented and heartfelt people–doesn’t it make you proud?” He held up a sheaf of papers. “I brought some notes about the economy and such, but after I walked through the east wing, it didn’t seem relevant.

  “Tonight, as I was getting ready to come here, I raced out the door, my mind on work. You all know how that is, don’t you? We rush through our days, and sometimes we forget the important things.” He gazed over the heads of his listeners. “We forget who we really are, and where we come from. But tonight, I’m remembering, and I owe that to the artists.”

  Karen thought of the paintings she had seen before dinner, especially that of the broken-down windmill and barn, and she imagined the wind tearing through the abandoned structure. Now that things were hopping in Dickinson again, how would the artist deal with his or her memories? What did he see when he stood at the edge of his old farm?

  The governor’s voice cut through her thoughts. “…they worked from dawn to dusk farming rocks. It was their life plan. The Germans who immigrated here from the Banat region in Europe had a saying: ‘To the first generation is death; to the second, hardship; to the third, success.’ May we justify their sacrifice and fulfill their dreams.”

  Karen saw she was not the only one at the table who was moved. “I wish I could meet him,” she said.

  “Follow me.” Curt led the way to the front of the room, pushing through a throng of admirers. The governor turned. “Dr. H.”

  “I’d like you to meet Karen Grace. She’s a Weiler, from Dickinson, although lately of California.”

  “Welcome back.” The governor took her hand. “I hope the professor is extending plenty of North Dakota hospitality.”

  “He definitely is. In fact, we played a round of golf yesterday at the Bully Pulpit.”

  “Beautiful place. I wish I had more time for that.” He guided them to a semi-private corner. “What brings you back home, Karen?”

  “I’m visiting family.”

  “The best of reasons.” He signaled the photographer. “Let’s get a picture of the three of us. Give me your email address and I’ll have a copy sent to you.”

  Karen handed her card to the governor.

  “Human Resources? My goodness, the eighth circle of hell.”

  She laughed. “It can be.”

  “I’ll tell you, Karen, I have this assistant who’s driving us all crazy. I mean, he is talented but moody, and if he’s having a bad day, it’s all over with for the rest of us–wait a second. I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be working.”

  She took the card back and scribbled her cell number on it. “I’ll be here for a few more days if you want to talk.”

  “Just a few? Too bad for North Dakota.” The governor’s aide pulled him away and Karen followed Curt out to the terrace. The early June evening had already turned cool and he placed his jacket over her shoulders.

  She leaned against him and they watched the red of sunset fade to purple dusk. The terraced grounds sloped downhill and away from the great hall, which loomed over the campus commons. In the distance, the carillon tower chimed eight o’clock.

  Curt turned her around to face him. With his fingertips, he traced the line of her jaw from her earlobe to her chin, and Karen felt shocked, and then her resolve slipped. She lifted her chin and their lips touched, gently at first, then with more urgency. Her nerve endings tingled all along her spine as she tasted him, exploring the softness of his lips, drawing his tongue into her mouth. When she released him, she heard him exhale and felt his strong arms pull her close.

  “You don’t have to go back,” he said.

  “But I do.” They kissed again, longer this time, pressing the length of their bodies together, breathing together.

  The ballroom door flew open and Denise laughed. “Oh, my goodness. Well, too late now. Hey, you two, the band’s starting.”

  They went inside where music made conversation impossible. It didn’t matter. He pulled her onto the crowded dance floor and they swayed together, alone inside the swirling, noisy crowd. She moved with him, her eyes half-closed, feeling the longing in his touch. Being wanted was the ultimate aphrodisiac, and she imagined his bare skin against her own from lip to ankle.

  She leaned back, rocking in his arms. He looked up at the ceiling, then back at her. Then he took her by the hand.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Hell with this. I’m taking you home.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  They writhed and tore at the sheets until the candles guttered out and the old farmhouse groaned with exhaustion. When they slowed to catch their breath, they heard the yip and howl of coyotes hard at a meal and went at each other again, until her skin was raw and his was scratched. And still they feasted.

  In the morning, a meadowlark sang Karen awake from its perch just outside the second-story window. Clothing was scattered across the braided rug and flung over a ladderback chair. Careful, not wanting to wake him, she rolled over and studied his face, pure in sleep. A small white scar, now almost hidden by stubble, cut across his jaw. She longed to trace the lines between his charcoal-grey eyebrows and kiss the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

  A breeze drifted across the room, in one window and out another, and Curt sighed. In the light of the morning she remembered everything they had done to and for each other, and smiled to think how beautifully her body had performed. Last night was madness–fabulous, soft, hot, wet insanity.

  When his eyes opened she gasped in surprise and laughed, and he pulled her toward him, back to front. They lay like spoons, his voice deep against her ear. “You stayed.”

  “Should I have played hard to get?” she teased, but when the silence stretched, she felt stupid for asking.

  “I’d have no defense,” he said sleepily, and tightened his arms around her.

  An hour later, she awoke to his warm hand sliding up her thigh and across her belly, and she tensed, remembering all those Midwestern meals she’d enjoyed of late. But when his fingers cupped her breast as if holding a baby bird and gently squeezed her nipple, she stopped thinking.

  In the shower he soaped her up and down, made her sudsy and sleek and then leaned her against the warm tile and kissed her so deeply she couldn’t feel her legs. When she opened her eyes, he turned her around and rinsed her off in the multiple jets, and she stood still and let him.

  When the hot water started to run out, they dried each other off. He handed her a terrycloth robe from his closet and pulled on a pair of jeans and a U.N.D. tee shirt.

  “Breakfast?”

  “Starved.”

  Downstairs, she detoured into his office to check her email. While the computer booted, she studied her surroundings, trying to get a sense of him.

  The room was furnished in Early Cattle Baron, with chocolate leather wingchairs and a pelt of some kind draped across the back of the sofa. A lariat hung on the wall next to a painting of two elk challenging each other in an evening meadow. A dented red lantern, its chimney cracked, perched on the edge of a book case. Yet in spite of his penchant for rustic and rugged, the room hummed with electronics, some of them so new Karen felt jealous. On a shelf above the desk stood a framed picture of a young girl on a horse. Her dark eyes and straight brows left no doubt as to who her daddy was.

  When the website came up, Karen entered her login name and employee password and waited. The computer beeped, the login failing twice, but she felt only mild frustration. Wes often scheduled maintenance for the weekends. Next, she called her corporate voicemail, but there were no new messages. No news was good news. Karen stretched, reaching for the ceiling in a delightful shiver. Later in the day she would call Peggy at home. Right now, though, she was hungry.

  The aroma of bacon lured her into the kitchen, where Curt whistled an off-key tune while scrambling eggs. “Find anything interesting in there?”

  “Your daughter’s picture.”

&nbs
p; “That’s Erin. She just finished her first semester at Florida State.”

  Karen sat in a chair by the window. Outside, a weeping willow draped the front lawn and red climbing roses laced a fence along the driveway. “Is she coming home for the summer?”

  “Nope. She told me she wanted to stick around for the summer session, but I think it’s more about a boy with a boat.”

  “And her mother?”

  Curt turned off the flame. “She got tired of Dickinson a long time ago. I raised Erin.”

  “That’s rough.”

  He piled eggs and hash browns onto their plates. “It was a privilege.”

  When they finished, Curt took Karen out to the barn to see the baby. “She’s three weeks old,” he said, letting the foal nibble his fingertips. “Her mom needs a break. Do you ride? My neighbor’s got a nice old gelding we can borrow.”

  Karen petted the mare’s soft neck. “I used to, but I got thrown, and right afterwards I read a horse isn’t much smarter than a chicken, so I never got back on.”

  “I’ll get you back on.” He grasped her by the robe’s belt and kissed her.

  “I believe you,” she said when she could breathe again.

  “When are you going back?”

  “Day after tomorrow.” She touched the foal’s nose, a perfect velvet miniature of his mother’s.

  “What a drag.” Curt left the horses and crossed the barn to the far wall. He sat down on a hay bale and patted the spot next to him. “Come tell me about your life there. Where you live, and about your work.”

  She clomped over in his big flip-flops, sat down and told him about it, how human resources had started out as something beautiful and promising and then turned into triage, but still she loved it. She talked of the energy and diversity of California, of desert and farmland and coastline and rainforest, of art and music and commerce.

  When she paused for a breath, she remembered the time and grabbed his wrist. “I was supposed to go to church with Aunt Marie. She’s probably called the police by now.”

  “Not a chance. Everybody knows where you spent the night.”

  “What is she going to think?”

  “That you jumped the fence, and you ain’t apologizin’?”

  “Christ!” Karen hurried back to the house and changed into her cocktail dress and heels. When Curt saw her he started laughing.

  “No sneaking in with this on, is there?” She looked forlorn.

  He took her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  They rode in silence through the brightness of midmorning, through the fields sprawling away from his farmhouse to the leafy green streets of her neighborhood. In front of the house, Karen leaned back in his window and kissed him lightly. She wanted more, but felt eyes watching her from behind every lace curtain within one hundred yards.

  When she straightened up, he sighed. “Not even a couple extra days? Are you sure?”

  “I have no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  She pecked him on the lips and went in the house, dashing into her bedroom and changing before Aunt Marie could see her in lastnight’s dress. Although Karen was flattered by Curt’s attention, his attitude about her job irritated her. Nice that he’d carved out a sweet niche for himself, but that didn’t mean everybody could swing the same deal. Especially now, in this economy, and at her age.

  She checked her messages, and called Peggy. “There’s something different in your voice,” the older woman said.

  “No, I’m just relaxing. This trip has been really good for me.”

  “Well, I’m about worn out. I’ll be glad to see you back here.”

  “Day after tomorrow,” said Karen. “It’s been fun but I’m ready.”

  “See you then.”

  Aunt Marie was working in the garden, so Karen went outside to help. As she pulled weeds and tied up raucous young beans and peas, her fingers moved automatically in old, familiar patterns, freeing her brain to analyze every delicious detail of last night. Who knew her body would work so well? Turns out maybe she wasn’t so old after all. She looked up and caught her aunt smiling.

  Karen sat back on her heels. Aunt Marie’s fingers, knobby with age and arthritis, were half-buried in the fragrant earth as she pulled weeds from around the base of a coriander plant. She hummed softly, looking up in surprise as Karen leaned down to hug her.

  That evening she finished packing, checking and rechecking her tickets for tomorrow’s flight. Finally, all that remained was to check her messages one last time. The last one was from Wes. He’d left it an hour ago, early evening in California, and he wanted her to call him right away. He answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, North Dakota girl,” Wes said. “You’re up late.”

  “It’s only nine. How was the conference?”

  “It was helpful.”

  She waited, but he was silent. “I was just checking my messages and you wanted me to call.”

  “Yeah. I’m going through your files–”

  “My files?”

  “Yep. Got ‘em here at home with me.”

  She heard ice clinking in a glass as he took a sip of his drink. “Did you have a question?”

  “Thing is, Karen, I can’t find your notes about contract negotiations with the lab workers, and I’m going to need them.”

  “The reason you can’t find them is because I have the file with me here.”

  “I need it back.”

  “Sure. I’ll bring it in Tuesday, bright and early.”

  The ice clinked again. “Why don’t you go ahead and overnight that file to me, and anything else you have relating to these negotiations?”

  Karen hesitated. “None of it will reach you before I get back there.”

  “While you’re at it, why don’t you send me anything else you’ve got?”

  “Wes? Did I not mention I’m coming back Tuesday? Anything I have will be on your desk in a little more than a day.”

  “How about instead you overnight me those files, and then you can stay back there in the country for as long as you like?”

  “That’s nice of you, but I’m all packed. I have my tickets and I’m flying home tomorrow.”

  “Payroll’s drawing up your last check, and I told them to throw in any of your unused sick leave.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Well, you earned it, and I want to be fair.”

  She felt her legs wobble and flopped into a chair. “That isn’t necessary. Not at all. I can be home by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “No need.”

  She took a steadying breath. “If I read you correctly, you’re unhappy I took a week off, but I’d like you to understand. My mother died. I needed to take care of her affairs.”

  “That’s a personal issue. You know I don’t take those into account.”

  Karen gripped the phone so hard she accidently pressed a button and it beeped. “Right. But what you should take into account is my value to the company, and the difficulty and expense of replacing an employee at my level. I understand you may be annoyed that I was gone, but you have a lot on your plate right now. Let me just come back, pick up where I left off a week ago, and keep things rolling at the office.”

  “Thanks for your concern, but I can handle it just fine.”

  She finally cracked. “It’s not a firing offense, for God’s sake.”

  “Good-bye, Karen.”

  Her mouth opened, then closed. Air wasn’t moving. Karen lowered the phone from her ear and stared at the thing as if expecting it to explain what just happened. Wes was insane. She’d only been gone a few days. She hadn’t taken time off in years. She worked sixty, seventy, eighty hours a week on salary. The man was a fucking maniac.

  Did he just fire me?

  Aunt Marie walked over, dishtowel in hand. “Is something wrong?”

  “Um, no. Nope. Not at all. Everything’s cool,” she babbled. “You know what? I think I’ll go for a walk.”

  “It’
s dark, honey.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  She sprang from the porch like a puma and hit the pavement in a sprint. Turned left at the sidewalk, but the sidewalk couldn’t contain her, and then she was in the street, her footsteps landing hard.

  Fucking bastard fucking bastard fucking bastard.

  Her mind raced as fast as her pulse.

  Fired? He was out of his mind. She was so busy, she had so much going on, that he was a fool to fire her; too stupid to even know it. He would learn it eventually, but by then the damage would have been done.

  And who the hell was he to fire her? San Francisco corporate loved her. Lou, the CEO, had told her so many times that he appreciated her dedication, her expertise, her institutional memory. They don’t make ‘em like you anymore, he said. He couldn’t have approved this.

  A car honked and she swerved back toward the curb, wild eyed and winded from the unaccustomed effort. She needed to call Lou immediately. Wes had no right. Karen had proven herself over the years. She was loyal, effective, and reliable. They couldn’t be letting her go. She was too important; she had done too good a job. The people at corporate knew her, knew how long and hard she had worked. Nobody knew the job like she did.

  Her pace slowed. What if Wes really did have the blessing of Lou and the higher-ups in San Francisco?

  Could they be that stupid?

  She sat on the curb, breathing in huge gasps. Karen knew the answer to that. Even in spite of her distaste, she had worked hard to form bonds with the porcine executives who treated Global Health as their personal bank, and she had no illusions. She kept her mouth shut and did her job, playing it safe while working behind the scenes to protect the company. As a result of her efforts, the guys at the top were printing money. Apparently it wasn’t enough. They wanted her salary, too.

  Overhead, a pair of bats circled the street light.

  It did not make sense. If the top guys at corporate knew all the projects she was working on, and that she was in the middle of a dozen high-profile operations, they would never have let her go, if only to save themselves money and effort. A ton of work remained on her desk, critical work no one else could do. Who would finish recruiting a dozen new nurses for the city hospital? Who would interview the physicians for neonatal intensive care? What about the contract negotiations with the electricians? They’d threatened to walk, except Karen had won a temporary reprieve while she reworked management’s offer. Who would handle that now? What would happen to the office?