The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen - Debra Kayn Page 0,24

age when he'd kidnapped her away from everything she knew, she remembered where she'd come from. She was back on familiar terrain, probably remembering it as a child would a favorite toy she liked to play with and always thought was better than it was in reality.

Two more turns and he pulled into the driveway of the house her mom had rented under the welfare program. He turned off the bike. Marla Marie never let go of him.

He patted her lower leg. "Hop off."

She slid off the seat and stood, staring at the house. He had no qualms about trespassing because three years ago, as soon as he'd settled Marla Marie in with his sister, he'd approached the owner and convinced him to sell the house for the amount of money he flashed in front of him.

He had no plans for the place. At the time, he wanted to protect himself. If the cops investigated a missing child and contacted the house owner where Marla Marie last lived, asking questions, he wanted to be aware of what was going on.

Every few months, he had one of the WAKOM members swing by and adjust the heater's temperature and check the place for problems.

Besides that, the house sat empty.

Getting off the bike, he flipped through the keys on his keyring until he found the right one. Then, he handed it to Marla Marie.

"Go ahead and go in." He followed her at a slower pace.

The front door gave her trouble, but she managed to open it on her own. Looking back at him, she hesitated at the threshold. He lifted his chin, motioning her to go.

She stepped in alone. From the door, he watched her stop in the living room. The furniture that came with the house remained. The same things she was used to seeing. The same belongings she probably thought her mother had owned but were no more than second-hand purchases by a guy who wanted to make a buck or two a month renting it out to poor people.

Suddenly, Marla Mae rushed out of the room. He swallowed, recognizing that hopefulness in her face. She wouldn't find her mom waiting for her in the other room.

Several minutes passed, and Marla Mae never came back. His boots thunked across the old, scarred wooden floor as he searched for her.

She stood in the middle of what he assumed had been her mom's room. There were still two shirts on the floor in the closet.

He should've douched out the house three years ago. There was nothing here that Marla Marie needed.

"She's not coming back for you." He lowered his voice. "Rachel was right. Your mom is gone."

Marla Marie's slim shoulders straightened. "How?"

She was old enough to know the truth. More importantly, she was mature enough to understand the truths of her life.

"Your mom was addicted to heroin."

Marla Marie's brows lowered. He wasn't sure if she'd learned about drugs in school or questioned Rachel about some of the activities at the clubhouse.

"It's a drug." He paused, giving her time to understand in case it was news to her. "When the cops took her from the house, she was put in prison for two years. When she was released, she went back to hanging with her friends and shooting up. She died of an overdose."

She stared at the bed. Even though she was silent, she heard him.

"You might not have known that was the reason why she left you before, but she had a long struggle with drugs, even before she had you."

Marla Marie walked past him and slipped into the other bedroom. Whatever she expected to find wouldn't be there. She couldn't ignore her existence.

He followed her into the other bedroom. She held a shirt in her hands but looked out the window to the backyard.

"Your mom isn't coming back," he said, drilling the fact into her head.

She dropped the shirt and turned around. "I want to live here."

"You're going to get back on the motorcycle and let me take you home. You've got two people who want to be your mom and—"

"They're not my parents!" Her face scrunched up in anger. "This is my home. I belong here."

"You're a kid."

"I'm thirteen years old. I'm old enough to stay by myself." She stormed past him.

He clamped his hand on her shoulder, stopping her. He hated to push her more, but she needed to wake up and look around her.

Steering her through the house, he opened the back door. Outside, he marched her across the