Chapter Two

      Mark wished he hadn’t bought the bags of feed that now filled the back seat of his pickup. He could barely smell the fading rose that had been lying on the seat of his pickup. The poor flower had no water tube. He felt a little foolish having it there now that Mr. Stelling was claiming that he needed to ride in the middle of the seat. It was difficult to be gallant and give a rose to a woman when the woman’s father was seated between them. Mr. Stelling had his knee braced against the gear shift and Hannah was huddled in the opposite side of the cab looking like she was weighed down by the troubles of the whole world—not that she would admit it.

      Mark figured he’d made a little progress with her, but it wasn’t enough. It had been so easy to be her hero when they were younger. Now she wouldn’t even talk to him.

      “You’ll need to get these shocks checked,” Mr. Stelling complained as he pressed his knuckles down on the seat’s padding. “Not very comfortable.”

      Mark put his vehicle into Reverse. He turned to give Hannah a quick smile but saw she wasn’t looking his way.

      “Dad,” Hannah protested, still looking out the windshield.

      “Well, there’s too much bouncing on the passenger side,” her father said as he turned to face her. “A man needs to take good care of his pickup. Mark should know that.”

      Hannah turned to look at her father. “It doesn’t matter. He’s doing us a favor.”

      Mr. Stelling turned back to stare out the front window.

      In all that time, Hannah hadn’t spared Mark a glance.

      “Your father just likes to keep me away from you,” Mark said, hoping he’d get a chuckle from at least one of them.

      Hannah didn’t turn his way and Mr. Stelling didn’t answer. The other man had a white bandage wrapped around his head, and he was sitting straight in the seat just like the nurse had asked him to.

      “Not that I blame him for that,” Mark added.

      That didn’t gain him any further response, so Mark kept silent as he made the turn from the parking lot to the main street leading to the freeway.

      “I don’t like hospitals,” Mr. Stelling finally said. “They make me cranky.”

      Mark figured that was as close to an apology as he’d get from the older man.

      “None of us like them,” Mark agreed. They were crowded together in the cab, but at least now it didn’t feel quite as awkward.

      Within a few minutes, they were on the freeway and headed back to Dry Creek. There was little traffic. Large empty fields lined both sides of the freeway. Mark refrained from mentioning that all those other ranchers had managed to get their wheat harvested. A herd of deer stood in the distance, grazing. The clouds on the horizon looked darker than they had been. Mark only hoped the rain would hold off long enough to get Mr. Stelling’s harvest done.

      “I shouldn’t have made that remark about your head being damaged,” Mr. Stelling offered when they’d driven a few miles. He was silent for a while and then asked, “Did it hurt much all those years you were out of it?”

      “You mean during the coma?” Mark turned slightly. It was not surprising the older man would ask about that time. Everyone seemed curious. “No, it didn’t hurt. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t remember much.”

      Mr. Stelling nodded. “My wife, she was in a coma a few days before she died.”

      “Ah.” Mark understood now. He’d forgotten that fact. “Don’t worry. She wasn’t in any pain.”

      A few more miles passed. Mark wondered if he’d always be known as the man who’d been in a coma. People used to say he’d do great things in his life—that he’d be a hero. No one said that any longer. He even had some sensational grocery store newspaper call and offer him a “significant amount of money” to interview him for a story. The thought made him cringe. He didn’t want to be known as the man who had been stuck in a coma for four years. A man needed some dignity.

      Mark thought a moment. “I still don’t remember everything about that night when I got shot.”

      Mark didn’t want his life laid out to satisfy the curiosity of strangers, but he did want to tell Hannah how sorry he was about what happened back then, and this might be his only chance to do so.

      “I’d called and asked you to come over and talk to me,” Hannah said. Her voice was low, but she had turned so he could see her. He wasn’t sure of her emotions from her eyes, but he thought he saw some hurt in their depths. He wanted to soothe it away.

      “I remember that clearly,” Mark said. “Your dad was at some church meeting, but I still parked my pickup out by the driveway into the ranch and you walked out to meet me. Some of your mother’s flowers were blooming.”

      “The wild roses.” Hannah smiled then. “You could smell them all along the fence. It was a moonlit night.”

      “They were a deep pink,” Mark offered. “Beautiful.”

      Mr. Stelling grunted. “I would have grounded her for a month if I’d known she was seeing you behind my back. You never were any good for her.”

      “He was my friend,” Hannah protested even though she didn’t look over at him. “There was a bully at school and he always protected me.”

      “I still am your friend,” Mark said. “I hope you know that even though there probably aren’t any bullies now.”

      Except for your father, Mark added to himself silently. He figured Hannah wouldn’t want him to say that, though. She didn’t answer, and memories flooded Mark. He’d thought