Dakota Love (41 page)

“Guess I didn’t realize that the driveway needed grading until now.” Walt placed his hands on the seat and shifted his weight to his palms and his left leg, hoping the slight lift off of the seat would absorb the shock of the next bump. “It’s a wonder I have any customers.”

Walt looked across the half-acre RV park portion of his hotel business. Years ago, he’d purchased a prime location off of an Interstate 29 exit, built a twelve-room hotel with living quarters and, when Winnebagos came in vogue, poured cement slabs and erected electric poles.

Most of his fall regulars remained in their campsites. A lone fifth-wheel RV sat in the spot closest to the manager apartment of the hotel, with no sign of life. The owners probably ran into one of the nearby communities for supplies after unhooking their vehicles.

As Mark swung the car around to pull as close as he could to the residence door of the hotel building, Walt noticed a combine in the field behind his property.

The green behemoth’s blades ate up the sun-dried soybean stalks then belched out a trail of dust into the air. At the rate the farmer clicked along, the ground would be barren before sunset. October had arrived in southeastern South Dakota.

“Wait here while I get your walker.” Mark turned off the ignition and popped the trunk before exiting the car.

Walt fisted his hands and swallowed the hard lump of pride clogging his throat. Having relied on himself for fifty years, he had struggled with having to depend on others during the recovery from this operation. Unfortunately, he had another four to six weeks to go.

Sarah, Mark’s fiancée, burst through Walt’s back door and hurried down the sidewalk to the compact car. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she appeared to be younger than her years. A warm smile lit her face, giving the impression she had not a care in the world. Yet she had health problems of her own. She’d had no business staying in his small apartment and running the hotel and RV park during his hospital stay.

Although he’d prepared for his hip replacement by closing down the hotel portion of his business for the surgery and six-week recovery period, the doctor’s office had then moved the operation up a week. Walt had had several reservations during that time, so Sarah insisted that she would fill in rather than have him cancel on the guests. With the large medical bills that would accompany his surgery, he’d relented.

Sarah hugged Mark. Walt averted his eyes. He prayed nightly for Mark and Sarah’s relationship to be a success. He’d never wish the pain of a broken heart on anyone.

“Welcome home.” Sarah opened Walt’s car door then gingerly leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You look tired. Did the ride home wear you out?”

Walt reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “The longest hour of my life, but it could have been the driver.” He winked, trying to inflect jest in his answer to remove the worry from her eyes.

The drive from the VA hospital in Sioux Falls tired him but wasn’t truly the longest hour of his life. A Vietnam jungle held that honor. Eighteen and scared, he’d waited for what seemed like days until the chopper blades cut through the hot, stagnant air.

Metal clinked as Mark locked the sides of the walker into place. “Good thing Sarah let me use her car. The ride in my four-wheel drive would have been bumpier.”

Walt’s snort echoed through the car. Keeping his knees and ankles together, he used his hands to turn his body toward the compact’s open passenger door, just like the therapist had taught him. “I would still be in the hospital because there would be no way I could climb up in that thing.”

“As soon as you’re healed, I bet you can.” Sarah stepped back and Mark placed the walker in front of the car door.

Gripping the handles of the walker, Walt lifted himself from the car and stood not his normal five foot eight inches but as straight as the incision’s soreness allowed. The surgery’s pain was nowhere near the constant burning of his hip socket for the last forty-four years.

Mark carried Walt’s suitcase on one side and Sarah stationed herself on the opposite elbow as Walt took short, even steps on the sidewalk. Consciously he placed his right foot completely on the ground to take a step instead of putting his weight on the ball of his foot, his gait since Vietnam. This normal stride felt foreign to him after years of limping to ease the shooting pain with each step.

Halfway up the walk, Walt stopped. “You two don’t have to hover.” The words sounded gruffer than he meant them. He’d relied on himself for so long that having people show concern for him was, well, foreign, too.

“Uncle Walt…” Sarah placed her hand on his arm. “We’re just trying to help.”

The concern on her face softened his heart and moistened his eyes. He blinked. What was wrong with him? He steeled his jaw and pursed his lips. If he spoke now, emotion would crack his voice. He managed a nod and a quick pat of her hand before he continued up the sidewalk.

Good soldiers controlled their emotions. Maybe it was the pain medicine or the relief of being home, but feelings locked in the deepest depths of his heart fought their way to the surface. Clearing his throat, Walt stopped again. “I really do appreciate all you two have done for me.”

“That’s what family is for.” Mark stepped to the storm door and held it open.

First the walker crossed the threshold, then Walter’s right foot followed by his left. Ready to relish the essence of his home, Walt drew a deep breath, hoping the familiar mix of settled dust and stale food would feed his soul and calm his rampaging emotions.

Instead, Walt’s breath gushed out of him at the greeting of fresh-brewed coffee, spicy cinnamon, and bleach. Not the homecoming welcome he’d expected.

He looked around the kitchen and squinted his eyes against the sparkle. Sunshine burst through clear windows and gleamed off the chrome dinette table legs. The bright whiteness of the refrigerator and stove made them look as if they’d just been delivered and installed.

“You cleaned my house?” Walt turned narrowed eyes to Sarah.

Her eyes rounded, seemingly because of the terseness in his tone.

The plastic-tipped ends on the walker legs squeaked across the linoleum floor as Walt guided the walker to the table. His gaze roamed to every nook and cranny of the kitchen, not a speck of dust or grease to be found.

He turned to Mark, who now had a protective arm around Sarah. “I hope you helped, because you”—Walt pointed to Sarah—“young lady, had no business undertaking a project of that magnitude by yourself.”

Sarah smiled. “He did help out, but there is no need to worry about me.”

Walt raised his eyebrows.

“Well, okay, you can worry about me if you want to, but my MS symptoms are under control and—”

“I made her take lots of breaks.” Mark squeezed Sarah’s shoulders.

“Good.” Walt smiled. He’d seen the effects of multiple sclerosis on Mark’s mother and prayed that Sarah, with the help of modern medicine, could fend off its symptoms for a long time.

“I’m always so busy cleaning the hotel rooms…” Walt closed his eyes, inhaled, then held his breath a moment. “I’ve never had a nicer welcome home.”

“And shame on the era.”

Walt opened his eyes and met Mark’s disgust-filled gaze.

Mark’s simple response swept a storm of memories to the front of Walt’s mind. He shook his head. No time for that today.

“I believe I smell coffee and cinnamon rolls?” Walt scooted the walker closer to a red vinyl–covered dinette chair and eased down onto the padded seat.

“Sorry, it’s coffee cake.” Sarah crossed the short width of the kitchen and slid a pan from the oven.

“Don’t be sorry; just dish me up some.” Walt rubbed his palms together while his tongue brushed against the bristly hairs of his white mustache as he exaggerated licking his lips. “I’ve been eating hospital food too long.”

Mark and Sarah burst into laughter, apparently amused at his antics. He was so caught up in his happy homecoming, his chest heaved in merriment and jarred his incision, but not enough to sober him. The short stay in the VA hospital opened his eyes to his abundant blessings. Many of the veterans’ health problems couldn’t be fixed with surgery.

Sarah brought the cake pan to the table. After stashing Walt’s overnight bag in the bedroom, Mark grabbed mugs from the white metal cupboards while Sarah carried the carafe of fresh-brewed coffee.

Walt’s stomach growled in anticipation of the sweet brown sugar and spicy cinnamon treat as Mark plated generous portions of their midday snack. Sarah poured the steaming dark liquid into mismatched mugs advertising various area businesses, and returned the pot to the heating element.

After a week of bland food, Walt’s mouth watered for a bite of flavor-filled food. He lifted his fork.

“Do you mind if I say a prayer?” Sarah slid onto the chair next to Walt and reached for his left hand.

He laid the fork down and cupped her hand. Her thumb softly caressed the purple bruise left by his IV on the thin skin of his hand.

When Mark sat and grasped her free hand, Sarah bowed her head. Walt closed his eyes and followed her lead.

“Dear Lord, thank You for Uncle Walt’s successful surgery. Restore his body with strength and stamina as he heals and works hard at his physical therapy. Keep his spirits up if the days get difficult, assuring him that You never leave Your sheep alone. Bless this food and family time. Amen.”

“Amen.” The word came out in a gravelly whisper. Moved by Sarah’s heartfelt prayer, moisture built in the corner of Walt’s eyes. Keeping his head bowed, he squinted hard, hoping to remove the water before it became a full-fledged tear.

Just when he thought he’d regained control of his emotions, Sarah squeezed his hand. A tear broke through the seal of his lid and lingered in the outer corner of his eye, threatening to slip down his cheek at any moment. He gave up the battle and opened his eyes.

“Thank you for that prayer and”—he waved his hand, encompassing the room—“all of this.”

“My pleasure. Now dig in.” Sarah lifted her mug. “To health and happiness.”

Mark and Walt both lifted their mugs to Sarah’s coffee toast.

Walt savored his first bit of the moist cake, letting the sweet, spicy flavors burst in his mouth. “This is the best coffee cake I’ve ever eaten.”

Sarah beamed. “Thank you.”

“She’s a good baker.” Mark patted his husky middle. “Can’t you tell?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Uncle Walt, would you like me to catch you up on business, or are you too tired?”

“Now is as good a time as any.” Walt scraped his fork across the plate, raking every crumb of the sweet treat onto his utensil.

“I had to turn on the no-vacancy sign one night because the rooms were full.”

Walt raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Kind of late in the season for that.” Being a small roadside hotel, the only time his No-V
ACANCY
sign got a workout was the first two weeks in August as bikers wore out the interstate to get to the Sturgis motorcycle rally. “Either you’re good for business or something happened in one of the nearby towns.”

Sarah gave a small nod of her head. “A graduating class had its twenty-year class reunion during homecoming week.”

Walt didn’t bother to ask which class or city. He’d wait to read it in the local paper that was presumably stuffed in the stack of mail on the counter.

“I see some of my summer residents flew the coop while I was away. But it looks like I picked up a new fifth wheel. Did they have any problems setting up?”

“No.” Sarah’s tone held amused surprise.

“Can’t figure out why they’d want to park so close to the drive though. They had better spots to choose from. Besides, that electrical box gives me trouble sometimes.” Walt sipped his coffee. Holding the mug steady with both hands, he returned it to the table. “Forgot to tell you that. Going to have to get that fixed one of these days. Hate to have someone all set up and settled in and then have to move even one spot over. Plus that one’s a tricky spot to back into. He did a good job though, must be an old hand at it.”

Sarah giggled. “It’s not a he.”

Walt scrunched his face. “Beg pardon?”

“I said it’s not a he. It’s a she.” Sarah’s giggles turned into laughter.

He hadn’t heard wrong.

“Don’t look so surprised, Uncle Walt. Women have been driving for years.” Mark chuckled.

“A gal? All alone?” Usually his customers were couples or single men.

“Yes, she’s by herself.” Sarah grinned.

Walt shifted his weight on the chair and reached for his walker. It was time to change position to relieve the dull ache in his hip. “Guess it’s a good thing she chose that spot. Safer.”

Adjusting the walker, Walt slid from his chair, wincing just a little at the pressure adjustment to his hip.
Heel to toe, heel to toe
. He mentally repeated his therapist’s instructions as he pushed the walker to the kitchen window.

“I’ll have to keep a sharp eye on her.” Walt sighed. “Although I don’t know what help I’d be.”

The scuffing of a chair against the linoleum caused Walt to turn his head. Sarah joined him by the window.

“I don’t think you have to worry about it. She seems like one capable lady who’s never backed down from a challenge. There she is now.”

On the blacktop, a bright yellow extended-cab pickup with dual wheels waited for a tractor pulling a wagon filled with soybeans to pass by before turning into the RV park’s driveway.

Mark joined them at the window just as the pickup zipped into the driveway, bouncing through the potholes like a monster truck over a line of salvaged cars.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Walt let out a low whistle. “I’m going to have a talk with that young’un.”

Like a race car driver making a pit stop, the driver whipped into the parking spot beside the fifth wheel. A tall, broad woman slid from behind the driver’s seat then opened the back door. She pushed at the snow-white curls the wind whipped into her face as she grabbed her purchases and bounded to the camper’s door.

“Well…she’s old enough to know better.” Walt huffed. What was it with women of that generation, driving like maniacs? He turned to Sarah. “How long’s she staying?”