Dakota Born (26 page)

“But you're not. You're here with your grandfather and me.”

Calla snickered as if to say that was a pretty poor substitute. It hurt that her daughter refused to open her Christmas gifts. Sarah had tried everything, but Calla had insisted the only gift she wanted was a plane ticket to visit her father. The argument had begun the day Willie's Las Vegas postcard arrived.

“Is Dennis playing pinochle, too?”

“Yes.” Sarah knew she sounded defensive, but that was the way Calla made her feel. As soon as everyone arrived, her father was sure to suggest a game of pinochle. He'd taught Calla how to play when she was ten and she'd caught on to the game's strategy right away.

“Did you invite him for dinner or did Grandpa?”

“Why do you care?”

The surly look was back. “Because.” Then without a pause, she added, “You're sleeping with him, aren't you?”

“Calla!”

“You think I don't know, but I do and so does everyone else.” Her glare was full of contempt. “You're disgusting.”

Sarah had taken all she could from her daughter. She marched into the living room and stood there, hands on her hips. “Listen here, little girl, what goes on between me and Dennis Urlacher is none of your damned business.” She heaved in a deep breath. “Furthermore, you will not say or do anything to embarrass us. Do you understand me?”

Calla met her gaze defiantly. “Did you sleep with other men, too?”

Sarah thought she was going to be sick.

“Is that why my daddy divorced you?”

The ugliness of her daughter's accusations closed Sarah's throat. Her hand ached with the impulse to slap Calla's face and demand an apology. The girl had no way of knowing that Willie was the one who'd engaged in countless affairs. No way of knowing that he'd destroyed Sarah's self-esteem, crippled her financially and then deserted her and their child.

“What's going on?” Joshua McKenna asked, as he walked into the house, his arms loaded down with firewood. He set the logs by the fireplace, then stood between mother and daughter. This kind of confrontation was familiar enough, to Sarah's shame, that her father automatically took on the role of buffer.

“Nothing, Dad,” Sarah whispered. She retreated into the kitchen. As she left, she felt Calla's eyes following her, her resentment and bitterness burning holes in Sarah's back.

“Nothing's happening, Grandpa,” Calla said, refusing to allow Sarah the last word.

Jeb and Dennis arrived shortly after that. Sarah didn't know what Dennis had threatened, but whatever he'd said had worked. It was the first time Jeb had been to Buffalo Valley in months. Her brother had lost part of his leg in a farming accident three years earlier. Now, the only obvious physical evidence was a slight limp. The psychological damage had been far worse.

Sarah ached for her brother, who was younger by five years, and wished she knew how to help him, how to bring him back into the world. Ever since he'd returned from the hospital, Jeb had lived a secluded life. He'd broken off a promising relationship with a woman from Devils Lake and refused to see most of his friends. Getting him to join in family functions was difficult, if not impossible.

“Merry Christmas, Jeb,” Sarah said, affectionately kissing her brother's cheek. He looked good, his color healthy. She was pleased to see that he wore the shirt she'd sewed him, a thick one of wool plaid. Despite the loss of his leg, Jeb worked his buffalo herd and lived by himself on a huge spread fifty miles outside of town. He wasn't as surly now as he'd been right after the accident, but he wasn't the same man, either. “I'm glad you decided to join us,” she told him.

Jeb scowled, then smiled. “How long until dinner?”

“An hour.” Sarah knew why he asked. As soon as he could, he'd make his excuses and head back to his ranch.

“There's time for a game of pinochle before we eat,” her father called out from the living room.

“Can I play?” Calla asked, revealing the first sign of enthusiasm she'd shown all day.

“Don't you want to help your mother with dinner?”

Calla laughed as if the question amused her. “No.”

“I'll get the cards,” Joshua volunteered. “Jeb, you know where the card table is, don't you?”

Jeb made his way to the hallway closet.

“I can play, can't I?” Calla repeated, smiling sweetly at her grandfather.

“Of course you can,” Dennis told her before Joshua could respond.

Calla bristled. “I wasn't asking you.”

“Calla,” Sarah warned, her voice low.

Her daughter cast her an insolent look.

“What's the matter with her?” Dennis asked, staying behind in the kitchen.

Sarah sighed and tried to act as if it didn't matter what Calla said or did. “You don't want to know.”

“How'd she like the silver bangle I got her?”

Embarrassed, Sarah lowered her eyes. “She didn't open it, but I love my gold necklace. You shouldn't have spent so much.”

“I wanted to spend a lot more.”

Sarah knew he was saying he wanted to buy her a wedding band, but she let the comment pass, not wanting to argue on Christmas Day.

“I'm real happy with the sweater you knit me.”

“Leta helped. I'll have you know my entry into heaven was in serious jeopardy with that pattern.”

Dennis laughed and Sarah noticed her daughter watching them from the living room. Dennis did, too.

“Is she still upset about not spending the holidays with her father?” he asked.

Sarah nodded, the hurt inside her expanding. She'd tried so hard to be a good mother. But today, if Joshua hadn't come into the house when he did, Sarah might actually have slapped Calla's face. She'd never thought herself capable of such a thing. But these days her daughter seemed to bring out the worst in her.

“Did she open her Christmas gift from you?” Dennis asked.

“No,” Sarah said, with a forced smile, “but it's her loss.” Sarah had sewn Calla a vest, which had taken weeks. Her daughter had seen a similar one in a catalog and drooled over it for the longest time. She'd gone as far as to cut out the photograph and tape it to the bathroom mirror, knowing it was far too expensive to order. The vest alone cost nearly as much as a return ticket to Las Vegas. Out of love for her daughter, Sarah had designed and made an almost identical vest, complete with the delicate needlework. The fact that Calla refused to open her gift hurt more than Sarah wanted anyone to know.

“Thanks for bringing Jeb,” she told Dennis.

His fingertips gently touched her face. Sarah placed her hand over his, closing her eyes, needing his comfort, hungry for his love. When she looked up, she found that Calla's expression had turned openly hostile.

“If Dennis is playing cards, then I'm not.” She flopped back into her chair.

Both Jeb and her father paused in their task of setting out the card table and four folding chairs. Everyone seemed to be waiting for Dennis to respond.

“I don't need to play,” Dennis said with a shrug, willing to step aside in order to appease Calla.

“The hell you won't,” Sarah cried, refusing to let her daughter insult Dennis.

“It's a better game with four players,” Joshua commented, sitting down on one of the folding chairs. He reached for the deck and shuffled the pack. “But we can play with three, if that's what Calla wants.”

Calla frowned, clearly torn. “I bet Dennis wants to stay in the kitchen with my mother,” she said, challenging him to defy her.

“Actually, I think Sarah's got everything under control,” Dennis said, and joined the other two men.

Calla glared at him so hard that—as he later told Sarah—if looks could kill, he'd be a dead man.

The three men quickly became involved in a boisterous game of cards. Sarah kept herself busy putting the finishing touches to the dining-room table. The next time she glanced up, Calla was sitting, eyes shut, earphones on, as she listened to her iPod. It must've been set at its highest volume, because Sarah could hear the music from across the room.

When the men finished the game, dinner was ready. Still talking about the card game, Dennis, Jeb and her father gathered around the table. Ignoring them, Calla stayed where she was.

“Leave her be,” Sarah said, knowing her daughter would try to ruin the meal if she was forced to join them for dinner.

“No,” Jeb surprised her by saying. He walked over to where Calla sat and pulled out her earphones.

“Hey!” Calla straightened and scowled at her uncle, daring him to say something else.

He merely said, “Dinner's ready.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“That's too bad, because I've come all the way into town for this dinner. If I have to be there, then so do you.”

“Do I have to eat?”

“Every bite,” Jeb said, not quite managing to hold back a grin. “Even the Brussels sprouts.”

Calla wrinkled her nose, but Sarah could see that her daughter was as sick of her own bad mood as everyone else.

“After we help your mother with the dishes, we'll play another game of pinochle and you can be my partner. We'll beat the socks off Dennis and your grandpa.”

Calla seemed about to disagree, but then she gave what looked like an almost-smile and nodded. “Okay. Just as long as you and I are a team.”

“You got it, kid,” Jeb told her, and placed his hand on her shoulder. Sarah was grateful. They all sat down together and bowed their heads as Joshua said the blessing.

Perhaps later, Calla would open her gifts and appreciate her mother's love, and the effort she'd made. At Calla's age, Sarah had been just as insolent, just as unkind to her parents, just as uncompromising. What Sarah feared most of all was that her daughter would make the same painful mistakes she had.

 

The house had never seemed so empty. Christmas morning, Brandon woke and stared up at the ceiling for long minutes before he found the energy to climb out of bed.

The Christmas decorations Joanie had placed around the house were still there, but earlier, in a fit of rage, he'd taken the Christmas tree and thrown it out the front door. That was what he thought of Christmas. It might have been a stupid, futile action, but he'd felt better afterward. For a few minutes, anyway…

The phone rang around ten, and thinking it might be Joanie and the kids, he rushed to answer it. Instead, it was his parents in Arizona. He hadn't told them he and Joanie had separated; he figured he'd wait until after the holidays. No need to ruin their Christmas.

With a small deception, he was able to get off the telephone, promising to call back later. What he hadn't said was how
much
later.

Opening the refrigerator, he examined the meager contents, reached for a slice of bologna and ate it standing up. When he'd finished, he wandered outside to the barn where the animals were impatiently waiting for him.

“Hold on,” he told Princess, as he grabbed the milking stool. He could sell the milk now that there was only him to feed. The eggs, too. He wouldn't eat more than half a dozen in a week. As it was, he'd fed the extra eggs and milk to the pigs rather than take it into town. He grimaced; the pigs had been eating luxuriously because he didn't want to face his friends with the truth.

Some people were probably aware of his split with Joanie. The schoolteacher over in Bellmont might've heard—or guessed. He'd written a letter telling her that he and Joanie were withdrawing Sage and Stevie from school. He'd put it in the mail, hoping she wouldn't receive it until after the Christmas holidays.

The message light on the machine was blinking when he came back into the house. It was Sage, wishing him a merry Christmas and asking him to phone her and Stevie at Grandpa Bouchard's house.

Brandon hesitated, but not for long. He missed his children and damn it to hell, he missed Joanie, too. But leaving had been her choice. It wasn't what
he'd
wanted.

The phone rang three times. Just his luck, Joanie was the one who answered.

“It's Brandon,” he said, doing his level best not to convey what he was feeling.

“I…know.”

“Sage phoned.” She probably knew that, as well.

“I told her you were probably out with Princess.”

His hand squeezed the telephone receiver hard. “I was.”

An unnatural silence flowed between them.

“How are you?” Joanie asked after a minute.

“All right.” He wouldn't lie and tell her he was jumping with joy to have her out of his life, but he wouldn't let her know how emotionally devastated he felt, either.

“Me, too.”

“Are you in your dad's rental house?”

“Not yet.” She didn't elaborate, and Brandon speculated that she hadn't moved in because she'd been waiting for him to rush after her and beg her to come home. It'd be a cold day in hell before he did that. A very cold day.