“Venison! Oh my, God. I’m cooking Bambi!”
With a disgusted cry, she slammed the freezer door then hurried across the kitchen as quickly as possible, considering her sore hip. She snapped off the burner and glared at the contents in the skillet. No way was she eating Bambi.
Now what? she thought. She returned to the fridge and found some lettuce and tomatoes. She added a can of tuna she found in the pantry and successfully turned it into a salad. Now her only problem was she couldn’t find a drop of dressing. She vaguely recalled a cooking show she’d seen once when she was stuck in bed with the flu for a week. Maybe she could make her own salad dressing. After locating cooking oil and a bottle of vinegar, she dumped the contents of both bottles into a bowl, stirred them, then set the bowl in the fridge to chill.
Happy with her endeavors, she wandered to the family room and flipped on the television. She found an old movie and settled on the sofa to wait for Sam.
MELANIE SAT against a mound of pillows, a teen magazine propped in her lap when Sam walked through the door. For the first time in weeks a hint of sparkle shone in her eyes.
Overcome by a rush of emotion, he stopped and stared at his daughter. He’d been so afraid he would lose her. First the unknown, and then the dreaded diagnosis that forced him to locate her birth mother. Thanks to Rebecca, Mel now had a chance. For that, he would always be grateful to her.
“Dad!” Mel tossed the magazine aside. “I’m so bored.”
Sam chuckled at her melodramatics and produced the stuffed bear he’d been holding behind his back, before sitting on the edge of the bed. “That’s a good sign.”
Mel gave him one of her breathtaking grins. Shock rippled through him. That smile he’d always loved on his daughter reminded him too much of Rebecca. Mother and daughter shared the same smile, the same hair and eye color, but that’s where the physical similarities ended. He’d always had a mild curiosity about Mel’s parentage. Since meeting Rebecca, that curiosity had mounted, almost to the point of obsession.
Mel wrapped her slender arms around his neck and gave him a fierce hug. “Thanks for the bear, Dad.”
“Anytime.”
Mel settled against the pillows and hugged the pink teddy to her chest. “What are you doing here? I called the house. Where were you?”
“You called the house?” Rebecca was at the house.
“Yeah, I left a message on the machine. I figured you were busy with harvest.”
Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He’d have to explain Rebecca’s presence sooner or later, but he preferred later. “I had to come in to the city to pick up a part for one of the combines. The boys have already started taking down the wheat.”
A flicker of sadness flashed in her green eyes. “I guess that means you won’t be able to come see me tomorrow, huh?”
He’d never disappointed his daughter, and he wasn’t about to start now. Harvest or no harvest. “I’ll be here, Mel. I promise.”
“That’s okay, Dad,” she said, giving him a half smile. “I know you’ll be busy. You don’t have to.”
True, harvest time was difficult, with long hours from sunup until sundown. Most times they never even came in from the fields for meals. In the past, his widowed mother had helped out at harvest, bringing meals to the hands twice a day, and keeping up with the household chores, but last fall she’d relocated to Arizona to live with her sister in the much warmer climate. He needed to hire a housekeeper and cook, test the durum and canola fields, and deal with a mountain of paperwork piling up on his desk, but nothing could keep him from getting away to spend time with Mel until she came home, even if he could only manage to get away for a few hours at a time.
“I’ll be here,” he told her again.
Mel pushed a length of raven’s-wing hair over her shoulder. “Did you hear the good news, Dad? Dr. Walsh said I might be able to come home this weekend.”
He’d spoken to the doctor before coming in to see Mel. Granted, she might be released by the weekend, but that meant she’d need to come to the city three times a week to be monitored. With harvesting, he wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to do everything, both at home and with Mel. But he’d find a way. He and Mel had always made it, and they weren’t about to stop now.
“Dad?” Melanie peeked at him through long dark lashes, her hands folded in her lap.
He was in trouble. His daughter was anything but the demure picture she was attempting to paint. He gave her a stern look. “What?”
She leaned forward, placing her small hands on his arm. “Since I missed my driver’s ed classes this summer, can I take private lessons at one of those schools?”
He let out a pent up breath. The last thing he wanted right now was his daughter driving. “Let’s wait until you get home to discuss this.”
“Please, Dad,” she pleaded. “Leah’s taking her test next week. She’ll have her license before me.”
“It’s not the end of the world, Mel.”
She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes it is. I’ll be the only ninth-grader without a driver’s license.”
“We’ll see.”
“That’s not an answer,” she said, pouting.
“It’s the only answer you’re going to get right now.” He slid his finger down the slope of her nose, softening the rebuke.
Melanie sighed, her expression turning serious. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”
“About what this time?” he asked, checking his watch. Jake was waiting for the parts to repair the combine.
“I’d like to see my mother.”
Sam stared at Mel, not knowing what to say. As soon as she’d been old enough to understand, he’d told her she was adopted. The question of her birth mother had never come up—until now.
“Your mother?” he asked when he found his voice.
“I hope you’re not upset, Dad. But I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. I don’t remember much about her.”
Sam breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t referring to Rebecca, but Christina, her adoptive mother. The mother who walked out on her when she was six years old.
“Baby, I don’t even know where she is. I haven’t seen her since she—” turned her back on us. Regardless of his feelings, or lack of them, for Christina, she was the only mother Mel knew. By the time Mel was ten, she’d given up looking for birthday cards and Christmas cards from her mother. Not a single word. Why Mel would even want to see her baffled him, but Christina was a fickle woman and might one day rediscover her maternal instincts. If that happened, he didn’t want to color Mel’s vision in that regard. “Since she left,” he continued. “You know that.”
“What about my grandparents? Wouldn’t they know where she is?”
“What is this all about?”
She lowered her gaze and began plucking at the blanket. “I thought she might come see me when I was sick. I guess I want to ask her why she doesn’t love me.”
He hooked his finger under her chin until she was looking at him. “I love you. And in her own way, I’m sure your mother does, too. She just