The Four Stages of Loving Dutch Owen - Debra Kayn Page 0,8

that shit. It'll give her a chance, not to grow up like her mom."

He nodded without commenting. Clasping hands with Falcon, he continued to stand out in the hallway as the president walked away.

Marla Marie wasn't his responsibility. He inhaled deeply. All he'd done was feed a hungry kid.

For how much everyone knew about the mother, they seemed to have forgotten about the child.

Things were different nowadays than when he was growing up. He and Rachel had more eyes on them when his mom lost custody, and they were put into the state's care. If kids could slip away, the world was going to shit.

He latched his hands behind his head, trying to ease the tightness in his shoulders from sleeping in the damn chair all night.

There were women like Rachel who deserved a baby. Women who'd do everything possible to have a child. Then, there were shit parents who are lucky their kid hadn't died growing up from their neglect.

Needing to leave for Bellevue, he opened the room and went inside the room. Marla Marie sat on the couch, looking at him.

Fuck.

At that moment, he decided how he was going to fix everyone's problems.

Marla Marie didn't have a mom.

His sister didn't have a kid.

Chapter 4

THE TRAILER BEHIND the truck rattled over the bump in the road. Marla, sitting on her knees, stared out the back window, watching the black braid tied to the motorcycle's handlebar fly in the wind.

No matter how many bumps or turns, the motorcycle never fell off the trailer.

"Turn around and sit your ass down. We're going into town. The cops will take you if they see you sitting that way," said Dutch.

She turned and squeezed her legs under the belt. "How much longer until we stop?"

He never told her where they were going. Happy he wanted her to stay with him, she tagged behind him as he hurried to leave that morning.

"Five minutes or so."

He was a funny-looking man. His beard was thick and made him look like Santa, except Dutch's hair was dark, and he wasn't old or have a big belly. He also liked to wear sunglasses.

When he stared out the windshield, veins popped out on his arms, and he had hair on the back of his hands like Mr. Jackson, the custodian at her school.

Her stomach ached, and she squirmed. With nothing else to do after Dutch stopped at McDonald's but drink all the pop in the cup, she had to pee.

It was the longest car ride she'd ever been on. Her mom never drove. She didn't have a car. She walked to school and town if they needed something.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"You'll see when we get there." He rested his wrist on the top of the steering wheel, thumping his thumb against the dash.

When he told her to get ready and go with him, she thought he'd take her on his motorcycle. Instead, he left the pool hall and came back with a truck.

"Are we going to your house?"

He glanced at her. "Do you ever shut up?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes."

"Why don't you try not talking like you did yesterday." He slowed and turned.

She stretched, peering ahead through the windshield. He'd become cranky the longer they were in the truck. He should've eaten a burger when they'd went through the drive-thru.

A few minutes later, he pulled to a stop. She looked out at a house.

"Who lives here?" she asked, undoing her seatbelt and scooted closer to the door to look out.

He shut off the truck and stayed inside. She lost interest in what was outside and gazed at him.

His eyes were smaller, and he squeezed the steering wheel. He was angry.

She took off her seatbelt and scooted across the seat, and sat beside him. If he could see that she was nice and could help him do many things, he'd decide to keep her around.

And if he let her stay with him, she wouldn't have to go back to the shed.

"When we go inside, keep your mouth shut." He opened the door and walked around the front of the pickup.

Once he opened her door, she slid off the seat and got as close to him as possible. Halfway to the house, she slipped her hand into his.

He tried to shake his hand free of her, but she held on. If he left her here, she wouldn't know how to get back to the shed.

The front door opened, and a man stepped outside. He had long hair, tattoos on his neck and