The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen - Debra Kayn Page 0,20
slot, she pulled out a square packet. She read the front. Magnum large-sized condom. Lubricated.
She fingered the ring inside the package. Amber had shown her and Alyssa a condom and told them boys put it on their penis for safe sex.
Her face warmed, and she put the condom back, looking through every slot in the wallet to make sure she hadn't missed anything. There was nothing else inside.
Disappointed, she put everything back the way she'd found it and walked to the door. Listening for any sound, she carefully left the room and tiptoed across the hallway.
Dutch snored softly. Her eyes, unused to the dark, made her blind to the room. She shuffled her feet until she believed she was on the other side, then reached out, feeling for the chair.
A hand grabbed her shoulder. "What are you doing?"
Dutch's gravelly voice held anger toward her. She dropped the wallet and turned. "I can't sleep," she lied.
"Go to bed and stop snooping around, and maybe you'll fall asleep." He turned her toward the door and gave her a push.
She planted her feet. "Dutch?"
The thought of him having a condom hurt her. Was there someone else in his life he cared about more than her? What if he stopped coming back to see her and stayed away? What if she never got back to Moses Lake to find her mom?
"What?" he mumbled.
"Where do you live?"
"You know where." He walked with her to the bedroom door. "I live on the road."
"You're homeless?"
"I ride."
"But, this is your home, right?"
"If I had to pick a place, I suppose it would be here." He pushed her out into the hall. "Now, go to sleep. It's almost morning."
She went to her room, shut the door, and walked in the dark to the bed. Afraid he would leave while she slept, she stayed awake.
Fighting the urge to close her eyes, she'd almost lost the battle when the shower in the bathroom, next door to her bedroom, came on. Not knowing if it was Rachel or Dutch, she got dressed and went out to the kitchen.
She turned on the coffee maker and then toasted bread, putting a thin layer of peanut butter over the slice.
When footsteps reached her ears, she climbed up on the barstool and waited to see who was the first to get up.
Her patience rewarded as Dutch walked into the kitchen without a shirt, carrying his leather vest. She gazed up at him and tried to keep her eyes off the scar on his stomach. He never liked when she asked how he got it.
The scar had to hurt. Though, he moved around like it never bothered him.
He eyed her toast. She ripped the piece in half and handed it to him.
Dutch consumed it in two bites while looking at the coffee maker. She swung her feet on the stool, trying to find something to talk about that would keep him from leaving.
The maker stopped gurgling, and she slid down and hurried over, grabbing two mugs out of the cabinet. She could show him how he wouldn't have to do a thing around the house if he stayed. Whatever Rachel and Skull wanted him to do, she'd do for him.
He poured coffee in both mugs. "Are you drinking coffee now?"
"I've always drank coffee." She carried it back to the stool. "I like it."
Sometimes, coffee was the only thing in the house when she was little. She learned to like it cold by drinking out of the cups her mom left around and had forgotten. Since moving in with Rachel and Skull, she'd learned to drink it warm and make it herself.
"You don't want milk or sugar?" He sipped from the mug.
She shook her head, matching him drink for drink. He leaned against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen.
His hair still wet from the shower, he ignored the drips hitting his shoulders and running down the front of his chest. She seldom had anyone to eat breakfast with anymore. Over the last year, since Rachel got a job, and Skull slept in, she would make her own breakfast before school. Now that it was summer, she usually sat in front of the television and listened to the music channel while she had coffee and peanut butter toast—her favorite meal.
"Do you have a girlfriend," she asked.
"What kind of question is that?"
She shrugged.
"Well, it isn't any of your business." He drained the rest of his coffee and set the empty mug in the sink.