The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen - Debra Kayn Page 0,77

at the Harley, then stopped and peered around at the front yard. A smile lit up her face as she opened the trunk of the car and grabbed several plastic grocery sacks, lining them up on her arms to carry them inside the house.

He watched her walk past the window, struggling with opening the door with her hands full and then burst into the kitchen.

"Hey." She set her load of groceries on the table, working to free her arms from the sacks' handles. "The yard looks great. How did the mower work?"

He couldn't talk.

He was angry.

He was desperate for her to understand.

He loved her.

She ignored the groceries and came to him. Pressing her hands on his chest, she frowned. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Did you get hurt?"

He couldn't look at her. Imagining her scared and feeling like she couldn't tell him what was going on in her head, he'd failed her.

"Dutch." She slid her arms around his waist. "What happened?"

He kissed her hard, shaking inside. His lungs burned, and he pulled back, exhaling harshly.

She cupped his face, running her hands over his cheeks, his jaw, his beard, crying. "You're scaring me. Did something happen to Rachel? Skull?"

He gripped her upper arms, shaking her. She startled, and he enjoyed the few seconds when she was as scared as him. How could she not know how much she meant to him?

"Don't you get it?" His throat burned.

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

He pushed her to the side and stepped around her. "Since you were ten years old, you loved me."

"I do."

He whirled around and pointed toward the back door. "Then, explain the shit in the shed."

Her head snapped back, and her mouth opened. She gave no excuse. No reasons.

He gripped the chair and lifted it six inches off the floor, and slammed it down on the floor. She flinched, pressing her hand to the base of her throat.

The rage simmering in him fled at the sight of her moving away from him. "What were you thinking?"

"I..." She looked up at the ceiling and closed her mouth.

He wasn't going to let her get away with not explaining. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her outside and stormed across the yard.

Flinging open the door of the shed, he looked at her. "Explain that. Explain why you were turning this into a place to live when you have a perfectly good roof over your head with me? Didn't I take you away from living that kind of life where you have to live in filth, starving to death?"

Tears flowed down her cheeks. He wasn't going to let her crying stop him from getting answers. She'd lived, fearing he'd leave her, for too long.

She stepped inside the shed. He refused to go in there with her.

He belonged on the outside.

"The first time my mom left me seemed like it lasted forever." She slowly turned and faced him. "I stayed in the house by myself. I was young and not in school, so maybe four years old. I can't be sure. I do remember having a box of cereal in the kitchen—Cheerios. I was afraid to go outside and look for her."

She looked over at the boxes. Dutch's heart pounded. He'd never asked her about how she'd lived before he'd taken her and handed her over to Rachel and Skull.

He'd had a good idea what she'd gone through, but seeing her face now, it was even worse than he imagined.

"When Mom came back, I thought she'd bring food with her. I thought she'd gone to the store, and that's why it was taking so long for her to come home." She looked at him. "When I got old enough to go to school, I never knew if she would be home or gone. I never told anyone else that she'd leave me. I was afraid of getting her in trouble."

She should've told. A child, a baby, should never have to fend for themselves.

"The last time she left was different. Usually, she just walked out of the house and shut the door. That last time, though, the police came and took her away," she said.

His chest pounded. "How could the police miss a kid in the house?"

Knowing she was alone, living in the shed, he'd known the police weren't aware of her. A fact he'd taken into account when he took her out of town. It was summer. The school she'd attended would believe she'd moved before enrolling in the next grade. If they would've checked, they'd