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Always Dakota
Debbie Macomber


Perfect for fans of Maeve Binchy' - CandisDebbie Macomber sweeps you away to a place where dreams come true A fresh spirit of hope has entered the small town of Buffalo Valley. New businesses are opening, new people are moving into the town and locals are taking risks on lifelong dreams. People like Margaret Clemens. While Margaret has inherited her father’s prosperous ranch and is doing really well for herself, her dream is to fall in love.But when Matt Eilers catches her eye, everyone in town is quick to tell her that Matt’s bad news. Her friends are trying to protect her but soon the gossips whisper that Matt’s only with her for her money. And maybe he is?Or maybe there’s something more… Certainly, nobody has ever believed in him the way Margaret does.










Make time for friends. Make time for

Debbie Macomber

CEDAR COVE

16 Lighthouse Road

204 Rosewood Lane

311 Pelican Court

44 Cranberry Point

50 Harbor Street

6 Rainier Drive

74 Seaside Avenue

8 Sandpiper Way

92 Pacific Boulevard

1022 Evergreen Place

1105 Yakima Street

A Merry Little Christmas

(featuring 1225 Christmas Tree Lane and 5-B Poppy Lane)

BLOSSOM STREET

The Shop on Blossom Street

A Good Yarn

Susannah’s Garden

(previously published as Old Boyfriends)

Back on Blossom Street

(previously published as Wednesdays at Four)

Twenty Wishes

Summer on Blossom Street

Hannah’s List

A Turn in the Road

Thursdays at Eight

Christmas in Seattle

Falling for Christmas

Angels at Christmas

A Mother’s Gift

A Mother’s Wish

Happy Mother’s Day

Be My Valentine

THE MANNINGS

The Manning Sisters

The Manning Brides

The Manning Grooms

Summer in Orchard Valley

THE DAKOTAS

Dakota Born

Dakota Home

Always Dakota


Dear Reader,

Here at last is Always Dakota, the third book in my Dakota trilogy. I wrote this series of books in honour of my parents, who were born and raised in the Dakotas, and I’m thrilled these stories still have meaning for you. Buffalo Valley is a prairie town that’s been given a new chance at life; it’s now a place of hope and optimism and energy.

I feel I should warn you about something, though. Margaret Clemens isn’t your everyday kind of heroine—and Matt Eilers is unlike any other hero I’ve written. Life becomes very complicated for this young man—but I’m getting ahead of myself. Besides, you’ll find out all about Matt and Margaret soon enough.

I need to thank a number of people for their help as I worked on this series. One is my cousin Shirley Adler, who braved a Dakota winter so I could do the necessary research.

(I probably shouldn’t mention that it was one of the mildest winters on record!) Cousins Gary and Letty Zimmerman and Paula and Mike Greff, North Dakota natives all, offered invaluable assistance, as did authors and good friends Sandy Huseby and Judy Baer. What would a writer do without family and friends?

OK, my dear reader, settle down in a comfortable chair and get ready to visit Buffalo Valley again. I’m sure you’re going to enjoy your visit!






PS I love hearing from readers. You can reach me at www.debbiemacomber.com or write me at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.




Always Dakota

Debbie Macomber







www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)


To my

Aunt Betty Stierwalt

and

Aunt Gerty Urlacher

For gracing my life with their incredible gift for love and laughter

I love you both




Prologue


September

Bernard Clemens was dying and he knew it, despite what the doctors—all those fancy specialists—had said about his heart. He knew. He was old and tired, ready for death.

Sitting in the den of the home he’d built thirty years ago for his wife, he closed his eyes and remembered. Maggie had been his great love. His only love. Delicate and beautiful, nearly sixteen years younger, she could have had her choice of husbands, but she’d chosen him. An aging rancher with a craggy face and work-roughened hands. A man who had simple tastes and lacked social refinement. And yet she’d loved him.

God help him, he’d loved her, loved her still, although she’d been gone now for nearly twenty-seven years.

Her love had been gift enough, but she’d yearned to give him a son. Bernard, too, had hoped for an heir. He’d purchased the Triple C as a young man, buying the land adjacent to his parents’ property, and eventually he’d built the combined ranches into one huge spread, an empire to pass on to his son. However, the child had been a girl and they’d named her Margaret, after her mother.

The pregnancy had drained Maggie and she was further weakened that winter by a particularly bad strain of the flu. Pneumonia had set in soon afterward, and before anyone realized how serious it was, his Maggie was gone.

In all his life, Bernard had never known such grief. With Maggie’s death, he’d lost what he valued most—the woman who’d brought him joy. When they lowered her casket into the ground, they might as well have buried him, too. From that point forward, he threw himself into ranching, buying more land, increasing his herd and consequently turning the Triple C into one of the largest and most prosperous cattle ranches in all of North Dakota.

As for being a father to young Margaret, he’d tried, but as the eldest of seven boys, he had no experience in dealing with little girls. In the years that followed, his six younger brothers had all lived and worked with him for brief periods of time, eventually moving on and getting married and starting families of their own.

They’d helped him raise her, teaching her about ranching ways—riding and roping … and cussing, he was sorry to admit.

To this day, Margaret loved her uncles. Loved riding horses, too. She was a fine horsewoman, and more knowledgeable about cattle than any man he knew. She’d grown tall and smart—not to mention smart-mouthed —but Bernard feared he’d done his only child a grave disservice. Margaret resembled him more than she did her mother. Maggie had been a fragile, dainty woman who brought out everything that was good in Bernard.

Their daughter, unfortunately, revealed very little of her mother’s gentleness or charm. How could she, seeing that she’d been raised by a grief-stricken father and six bachelors? Margaret looked like Bernard, talked like him and dressed like him. It was a crying shame she hadn’t been a boy, since, until recently, she was often mistaken for one. His own doing, he thought, shaking his head. Had Maggie lived, she would have seen to the proper upbringing of their daughter. Would have taught their little girl social graces and femininity, as mothers do. Bernard had given it his best shot. He loved his daughter, but he felt that he’d failed her.

To her credit, Margaret possessed a generous, loving heart and she was a fine businesswoman. Bernard couldn’t help being proud of her, despite a constant sense of guilt about her unconventional upbringing.

There was a light knock. At his hoarse, “Come in,” the housekeeper opened the door. “Matt Eilers is here to see you,” Sadie announced brusquely.

With effort, Bernard straightened, his fingers digging into the padded leather arms of his chair as he forced himself to meet his neighbor. “Send him in.”

She nodded and left.

Less than a minute later, Matt Eilers appeared, Stetson in hand.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up,” Bernard said.

“Of course.”

Bernard gestured toward the matching chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Sit down.”

Matt obliged, giving Bernard his first good look at this man his daughter apparently loved. Frankly, he was disappointed. He’d seen Matt at social affairs, the occasional wedding, harvest dance or barbecue, but they’d never spoken. Somehow, he’d expected more substance, and he felt surprised that Margaret would be taken in by a pretty face and an empty heart. Over the past few years Bernard had heard plenty about his neighbor to the west, and not much of it had been flattering.

“I imagine you’re wondering why I asked to meet with you.”

“I am,” Matt said, perching on the edge of the chair. He held his hat in both hands, his expression questioning.

“You enjoy ranching?”

“Yes, sir.”

At least he was polite, and that boded well. “How long you been ranching the Stockert place?”

“Four years. I’d like to buy my own spread one day, but for now I’m leasing the land and building up my herd.”

“So I understand.” Bernard leaned back in his chair. His breath came slowly, painfully. “You have family in the area?”

Matt’s gaze shifted to the Oriental rug. “No. My parents divorced when I was five. My father ranched in Montana and I worked summers with him, but he died when I was fifteen.”

“Ranching’s in your blood then, same as mine.”

“It is,” Matt agreed.

Bernard hesitated, waiting until he had breath enough to continue. “You know my daughter, Margaret.”

Matt nodded.

“What do you think of her?”

The question seemed to take him by surprise. “Think of her? How do you mean?”

Bernard waved his hand. “Your general impression.”

Slumping back in the chair, Matt shrugged. “I … I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Just be honest,” he snapped, impatient. He didn’t have the strength—or the time—for word games.

“Well.” Matt paused. “Margaret’s Margaret. She’s … unique.”

That was true enough. As far as Bernard knew, she’d only worn a dress twice in her entire life. He’d tried to get her into one when she was ten and the attempt had damn near killed him. “Did you know she’s in love with you?”

“Margaret?” Matt sprang to his feet. “I swear I haven’t touched her! I swear it.” The color fled from his face and he shook his head as though to emphasize his words.

“I believe you …. Sit down.”

Matt did as asked, but his demeanor had changed dramatically. His posture was stiff, his face tight with apprehension and uncertainty.

“She’s gotten it in her head that she’s going to marry you.”

Matt had the look of a caged animal. “I … I’m not sure what to say.”

“You don’t know my daughter, otherwise you’d realize that when she sets her mind to something, there isn’t much that’ll stand in her way.”

“I … I.”

Bernard cut him off. He was growing weak and there was still a lot to be said. “In a few months, Margaret’s going to be a very wealthy woman.”

Matt stared at him.

“I’m dying. I don’t have much time left.” His gaze burned into Eilers. Then he closed his eyes, gathering strength. “God knows what she sees in you, but it’s too late to worry about her judgment now. I raised her the best I could, and if she loves you, there must be more to you than meets the eye.”

Matt stood and started pacing. “What makes you think I’d marry Margaret?” he asked.

Despite the difficulty he had in breathing, Bernard laughed. “Because you’d be a fool not to, and we both know it. She’s going to inherit this ranch. I own more land and cattle than you’ll see in ten lifetimes. She’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

It was clear from Eilers’s expression that he was shocked.

“I called you here today to tell you something you need to hear.”

Matt clutched his Stetson so tightly, his knuckles whitened. “What’s that?”

Bernard leaned forward. “You hurt my girl and I swear I’ll find a way to make you pay, even if I have to come back from the grave to do it.”

Eilers swallowed hard. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Mr. Clemens. I have no intention of marrying Margaret.”

Bernard chuckled, knowing otherwise. Eilers would marry Margaret, all right, but it wouldn’t be for love. He’d marry her for the land and the cattle. No man with ranching in his blood would be able to refuse what she had to offer.

Yes, Matt would marry her, but it was up to Margaret to earn Matt Eilers’s affection.




One


October

Margaret thought she was ready, as ready as any daughter could be to face her father’s death. She’d been at his side, his rough, callused hand between her own, when it happened. For hours she’d sat with him, watching the intermittent rise and fall of his chest, waiting, wondering if this breath would be his last, praying it wasn’t. Clinging to what little life was left in him.

Bernard Clemens had refused to die in a hospital and at his request, she’d brought him home. The hospice people had been wonderful, assisting Bernard in maintaining his dignity to the very end. Margaret had stayed with her father almost constantly the final week of his life.

She watched him draw his last shallow breath, watched him pass peacefully, silently, from one life to the next. Margaret wasn’t sure what she’d expected to feel, but certainly not this torrent of agony and grief. She’d known he was dying, known it for months, and she’d thought that knowledge would blunt the sharp rawness of her pain. It hadn’t. Her father was gone. She’d spent every day of her life with him, here on the Triple C, and now she was alone. In time, she realized, she’d be able to look back and see the blessing her father had been, but not yet. Not when her loss hurt as much as it did now.

She’d waited until she’d composed herself and then, dry-eyed, walked out of the large bedroom and awakened the sleeping family members, who’d gathered at the ranch. She’d announced that Bernard had died and his death had been peaceful. No tears were shed. That wasn’t how grief was expressed in the Clemens family.

Almost immediately, everyone had found a purpose and the house was filled with activity. More and more people arrived, and then, two days later, it was time for the funeral. Bernard Clemens’s three surviving brothers stood at the grave site with Margaret; they stayed long enough to greet folks and thank them for coming. Then they left, to return to their own families, their own lives.

The reception following the funeral was well attended. Nearly everyone in Buffalo Valley came to pay their respects. Hassie Knight, who owned Knight’s Pharmacy, took charge of organizing the event. She’d been a family friend for many years. At least a hundred people had gathered at the large ranch house, and there was more food than Margaret could eat in six weeks. She never had understood why people brought casseroles and desserts for a wake; the last thing she wanted to think about was eating.

“Margaret, I’m so sorry,” Sarah Urlacher told her, gently taking her hand and holding it. She was sincere, and her kindness touched Margaret’s heart. Sarah’s husband, Dennis, stood with her. His eyes revealed genuine compassion.

Margaret nodded, wishing she knew the couple better. It was her father who was well acquainted with the folks in Buffalo Valley. He’d been doing business there for years. Dennis delivered fuel to the ranch, so Margaret at least knew him, even if their relationship was just a casual one. Sarah owned and operated Buffalo Valley Quilts, a growing enterprise that seemed to be attracting interest all around the country. Margaret knew Sarah only by sight; they hadn’t shared more than a few perfunctory greetings.

She wanted to thank everyone for coming—she really did appreciate their expressions of sympathy and respect—and at the same time find a way to steer them out the door. Making conversation with people she hardly knew was beyond her. She was polite, cordial, but a tightness had gripped her chest, and it demanded every ounce of restraint she could muster not to rush to the barn, saddle Midnight and ride until she was too exhausted to go farther.

Bob and Merrily Carr came next, with their little boy, Axel. They owned and operated 3 OF A KIND, Buffalo Valley’s bar and grill. After that, the banker, Heath Quantrill, offered his condolences. Rachel Fischer was with him, and if Margaret remembered correctly, they were a couple now.

Ranchers and farmers crowded the house. So many people. There barely seemed room to breathe.

“Do you need anything?” Maddy McKenna asked with a gentleness that nearly broke Margaret’s facade. Maddy was the best friend she’d ever had. If anyone understood, it would be Maddy.

“I want everyone to leave,” Margaret whispered, fighting back emotion. The lump in her throat refused to go away and she had trouble talking around it.

Maddy took Margaret by the arm and led her down the long hallway to her bedroom. The two of them had spent many an afternoon in this very room; at Margaret’s entreaty, Maddy had tried to instruct her in the arts of looking and acting feminine—feminine enough to attract Matt Eilers. Not that her efforts had been noticed. Not by him, anyway.

“Sit,” Maddy ordered, pointing to Margaret’s bed.

Without argument, Margaret complied.

“When was the last time you had any sleep?”

Margaret blinked, unable to recall. “A while ago.” The night before the funeral she’d sat up and gone through her father’s papers. He had everything in order, as she’d suspected he would. He’d realized months ago that he was dying.

“Lie down,” Maddy said.

“I have a house full of company,” Margaret objected weakly. It went against the grain to let someone dictate what she should or shouldn’t do. With anyone else, she’d have made a fuss, insisted it was her place to be with her father’s friends.

“You’re dead on your feet,” Maddy told her.

Margaret nestled her head in her pillow, surprised by how good it felt against her face. How cool and comforting. I … I thought I was prepared,” she said, her eyes closed. “I thought I could handle this.”

“No one’s ever ready to lose a father,” Maddy said as she covered Margaret with the afghan from the foot of the bed. The weight of it settled warmly over her shoulders.

“Sleep now. By the time you wake, everyone will be gone.”

“Nothing’s ever going to be the same again,” Margaret whispered.

“You’re right, it won’t.”

Maddy’s voice sounded soothing, even if her words didn’t. But then, Margaret could count on her friend to tell the truth. Already she could feel sleep approach, could feel the tension leave her body. “Matt didn’t attend the funeral, did he?”

“No,” Maddy said.

“I thought he would.” She was keenly disappointed that he hadn’t bothered to show up.

“I know.”

Maddy was disappointed in him, too. Margaret could tell from the inflection in her voice. Few people understood why she loved Matt. If pressured to explain, Margaret wasn’t sure she could justify her feelings. Matt Eilers was as handsome as sin, shallow and conceited. But she loved him and had from the moment she’d met him.

With Maddy’s tutoring, Margaret had done everything possible to get Matt to recognize that she was a woman with a woman’s heart. A few months back, she’d had her hair done and put on panty hose for the first time in her life. The panty hose had nearly wrestled her to the ground and the new hairdo had made her look like one of the Marx Brothers—in her opinion, anyway. The whole beautifying operation had been a unique form of torture, but she’d willingly do it all again for Matt.

“I’m sure he’ll stop by later and pay his respects,” Margaret whispered, confident that he would.

“He should have been here today.” Maddy wasn’t nearly as forgiving. “Don’t worry about Matt.”

“I’m not.”

“Call me in the morning,” Maddy said.

“I will,” she promised, exhausted and grateful for Maddy’s friendship. Her last thought before she drifted off to sleep was of the father she loved and how bleak her life would feel without him.

Jeb McKenna knew his wife well, and her silence worried him as he drove the short distance between the Clemens house and his ranch. Unlike the Clemenses and most other ranchers in the area, Jeb raised bison; Maddy owned the grocery store in town. Right now, though, she was staying home with their infant daughter.

“You’re worried about Margaret, aren’t you?” he asked as he turned down the mile-long dirt driveway leading to their home. Maddy had barely said a word after seeing Margaret to her room.

“She was ready to collapse,” Maddy told him. “God only knows the last time she slept. Sadie said she’d been up for two nights straight.”

“Poor thing.” One didn’t generally think of Margaret in those terms. She came across as tough, strong, capable. They’d been neighbors for about five years—ever since Jeb had bought the property—and he’d seen Margaret on a number of different occasions. It was some time before he’d realized Margaret was a she instead of a he. It’d startled him, but he wasn’t the only person she’d inadvertently fooled. Maddy confessed that when they’d first met, she’d taken Margaret for a ranch hand.

“Bernard’s death has shaken her.”

Jeb understood. Joshua McKenna was in his late sixties now, and Jeb knew that sooner or later he, too, would lose his father. The inevitability of it made him feel a wave of sadness … and regret. He parked the car and turned off the engine.

“I’ll talk to Margaret in the morning,” Maddy said absently.

The October wind beat against him as Jeb climbed out of the vehicle and reached in the back to unfasten Julianne’s car seat. At three months she was showing more personality than he would’ve thought possible. She gurgled and smiled, waving her arms as though orchestrating life from her infant seat. She’d proved to be a good-natured baby, happy and even-tempered.

Carrying the baby seat, he covered Julianne’s face with the blanket and hurried toward the house, doing his best to protect his wife and daughter from the brunt of the wind.

Maddy switched on the kitchen lights and Jeb set the baby carrier on the recliner, unfastening Julianne and cradling her in his arms.

“I liked Pastor Dawson,” Maddy said casually.

The Methodist minister had recently taken up residence in town. Although Larry Dawson had grown up in Buffalo Valley, Jeb didn’t remember him. That wasn’t surprising, seeing that the pastor was near retirement age. Dawson was slight in stature, his hair—what was left of it—completely white. He hadn’t been in contact with Bernard Clemens for many years, but he’d given a respectable eulogy.

“The pastor invited us to church services on Sunday,” she murmured.

Although it was an offhand remark, Jeb knew Maddy was interested in becoming involved with a church community. He hesitated; the drive into Buffalo Valley took at least fifty minutes, and that was on a good day. Going to church would consume nearly all of Sunday morning. He opened his mouth, about to offer his wife a list of excuses as to why it would be inconvenient to attend. Before he could utter a word, he changed his mind. The fact that she’d mentioned the invitation at all meant this was important to her and shouldn’t be taken lightly.

When he married Maddy, Jeb knew there’d be a number of concessions on his part, but he loved her enough to make them. She’d certainly made concessions of her own—one of which was living so far out of town, away from her friends and the grocery she’d purchased a little more than a year ago. Church for Maddy would be a social outlet, and it would uplift her emotionally and spiritually. Women needed that.

Jeb and Maddy had met soon after she’d bought the one and only grocery store in Buffalo Valley. Her lifelong friend, Lindsay Snyder, had begun teaching at the high school and married Gage Sinclair the following summer. Maddy had been Lindsay’s maid of honor; the very day of the wedding she’d decided to settle in Buffalo Valley herself.

Jeb would be forever grateful that she had. His life changed the day he rescued Maddy during a blizzard. She’d been trapped in her car while delivering groceries and would have frozen to death if he hadn’t found her when he did. He’d brought her home with him, never suspecting that their time together would have consequences affecting both their lives. Consequences that included an unexpected pregnancy. He’d fallen in love with her in those three snowbound days. After losing his leg in a farming accident several years earlier, Jeb had thought it would never be possible for him to live a normal life again—or to feel normal emotions, normal desires. Maddy had shown him otherwise. They’d been married four months now and he was so much in love with her he had to pinch himself every once in a while to convince himself this was real.

“What do you think about us attending church services?” she pressed, studying him closely.

“I think that’s a fine idea,” he said. It wouldn’t hurt and might even do him some good.

Her smile told him how much she appreciated his response.

A few minutes later, Maddy efficiently changed Julianne’s diaper, then settled into the rocking chair. She unbuttoned her blouse and bared her breast for their baby. Fascinated, Jeb watched as his infant daughter instinctively turned toward her mother and greedily latched on.

Maddy rocked gently and hummed a lullaby. It wasn’t long before his daughter had taken her fill and Maddy carried her into the nursery to prepare her for the night.

Jeb had the television on, watching a news broadcast, when Maddy joined him. They’d decided to skip dinner, since they’d eaten the equivalent of a meal at Bernard’s wake that afternoon. Now, sitting at her husband’s side, Maddy picked up her knitting, a recently learned skill. Leta Betts, a devout knitter and Lindsay’s mother-in-law, had taught both Maddy and Lindsay how to knit while they were pregnant. “I wonder what Margaret’s going to do now.”

Jeb glanced away from the television long enough to recognize that Maddy needed to talk about this. He reached for the remote control and muted the sound. “It wasn’t as though Bernard’s death came as a shock.”

“I know. It’s just that …”

“What?” he urged.

“I’m worried about what’ll happen to Margaret without her father there to protect her.”

“How do you mean?”

“She’s alone for the first time in her life—and vulnerable.”

Jeb frowned. He hadn’t given the matter much thought, but Maddy was right. Margaret had lived a sheltered life, protected by her father and his name.

“She’s easy prey for some man. Anyone with a good line can just step in and take advantage of her. Look at all the attention she got at Bob and Merrily’s wedding.”

Jeb had no recollection of anything about that night except Maddy. She’d been seven months pregnant with his child. It was the night he’d asked her to marry him and she’d agreed.

“Almost every single man in Buffalo Valley invited Margaret to dance.”

It went without saying that the transformation in Margaret’s appearance and manner was due to Maddy’s efforts.

Maddy’s knitting needles clicked more rapidly, signaling her anxiety. “Margaret is about to become a very wealthy woman.”

“Credit her with some sense, Maddy,” Jeb said. “She’s intelligent and capable. Bernard made sure of that.”

“I agree with you, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“She’d marry Matt Eilers in a heartbeat. Don’t ask me why, but she’s in love with the man.” The knitting needles were a blur by now. “He’d take advantage of her, too.”

“You don’t know that,” Jeb said, although he suspected she was right. He wasn’t any fonder of Matt Eilers than Maddy was. They’d never had any business dealings, he and Matt, so Jeb had no concrete reason to distrust the rancher. But he did.

“I hate myself for thinking ill of him,” she muttered.

Jeb shrugged. He viewed Eilers as a weak man, although he wasn’t sure exactly what had shaped that opinion.

Maddy’s sigh was expressive. “Last I heard, he was dating Sheryl Decker in Devils Lake.”

Jeb had never heard of her. “Who?”

“Sheryl Decker. She waits tables at a truck stop outside town.”

“Maybe he’ll marry her, then,” Jeb suggested, hoping that would be the end of the discussion.

Maddy sighed and relaxed the knitting needles in her lap. “We can always hope.”

“Matt,” Sheryl Decker called from the bedroom. “Bring me my cigarettes, would you?”

Matt opened the refrigerator and grabbed a cold can of beer. Sheryl knew he didn’t like her smoking, but his wishes didn’t dissuade her.

He returned to the bedroom and tossed the pack onto the bed, the abruptness of his action telling her he didn’t approve.

“You know how much I enjoy my smokes,” she said, pulling open her nightstand drawer and reaching for a lighter. She placed the cigarette between her lips, lit up and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

Matt joined her on the bed and took a deep swallow of beer. He was upset with himself and with Sheryl. She knew he’d wanted to attend Bernard Clemens’s funeral. He might not have liked the wealthy rancher, but Clemens was his neighbor and he felt honor-bound to pay his last respects. Sheryl, however, had other ideas, and like a fool he’d fallen under her spell—and not for the first time, either. Without much effort, she’d managed to lure him into bed; despite his best intentions, he’d let it happen.

“Are you still mad at me?” she asked, running her long fingernail down the length of his arm.

“No,” he muttered. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself.

“You know I have to work tonight, and this afternoon was the only time we could be together.”

He did know. His mistake was in stopping by Sheryl’s place at all. He’d come into Devils Lake for feed and had expected to get back before the funeral.

“You can still go to the reception, can’t you?”

“No.”

She wrapped her arm around his bare chest. “I’m really sorry,” she purred like the sex kitten she was. Matt had never wanted this relationship to take the path it had. He’d started coming by once or twice a month for dinner and companionship. Occasionally he spent the night. They had an understanding, or so he’d assumed, one that provided mutual satisfaction. Lately, however, Sheryl had begun to bring up the uncomfortable subject of marriage. Matt didn’t try to argue simply because it was easier to let her talk than to argue.

“I was thinking we should get married after the first of the year,” she said, taking another deep drag of her cigarette.

Matt sighed. He didn’t understand what it was with women and marriage. “Yeah, maybe. Whatever.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” she said with heavy sarcasm.

“I can’t figure out why women are always so eager to get married.”

Sheryl stared at him incredulously. “Do you think I want to wait tables the rest of my life?”

To be perfectly honest, he’d never thought about it one way or the other.

“You planning to marry anyone else?” she demanded, then without asking helped herself to a long swallow of his beer.

“Margaret Clemens,” he said, knowing that was sure to get a reaction.

“Margaret Clemens,” Sheryl repeated with a harsh laugh. “That’s a joke, right?”

“Not according to her father.”

Sheryl twisted around so she could look him in the eye. “You talked to Bernard Clemens about marrying Margaret?”

“No,” he said, disliking the cold tone of her voice. “He mentioned it to me.”

“When did he do that?” She brushed the bleached blond curls away from her forehead.

“A few weeks back. He asked to talk to me and I went over to see him.”

“And what exactly did he say?”

“He claimed Margaret’s in love with me.”

“Is she?”

Matt lifted both shoulders in a shrug. He hadn’t told anyone about the conversation. He’d never considered Margaret in romantic terms, and it flustered him to think she held any such feelings for him. Not that he was interested. Margaret was, well … Margaret. He didn’t even view her as a woman, like Sheryl, for instance, who was feminine from the top of her head to the tips of her crimson-painted toes. Although if memory served him right, Margaret had been dressed in something pretty the night of Buffalo Bob and Merrily’s wedding.

“Her dad warned you off, did he?” Sheryl asked, apparently finding the question humorous.

Matt wasn’t sure how to answer. “As a matter of fact, no. He seemed to think I’d marry her.”

“For her money?”

Matt nodded. “According to him, Margaret’s determined to have me.”

“Really?” Sheryl made a low snickering sound.

“That’s what he said.” It wasn’t something to brag about. Actually it was more of an embarrassment than anything. Ever since their conversation, Matt had gone out of his way to avoid Margaret Clemens.

“Are you going to marry her?”

“No!” His denial was swift and angry. How could Sheryl even suspect him of something like that?

She didn’t say anything for several moments, then seemed to come to some conclusion that excited her. Tossing aside the blankets, she scrambled to her knees and a slow smile crept over her wide mouth. “Why not marry her?”

“Well, for one thing, I don’t love her. For another …” He couldn’t think of a second reason fast enough. “Hey, I thought you wanted me to marry you.”

“You will, make no mistake about it. But you could marry Margaret first.”

He couldn’t believe his ears. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Why?” she asked as if that was the most hilarious question anyone had every posed. “Because she’s rich.”

“So?”

“You’ve been hoping to buy the Stockert ranch for years.”

“Yes, but—”

“You can have it.”

Matt frowned, beginning to sense what Sheryl was suggesting. “I hope you’re not saying what I think you are.”

“Sure I am. Marry her. She’s already in love with you—isn’t that what her daddy said? Give her what she wants, and then after a few months file for divorce.”

Matt had never heard anything more heartless. “That’s cruel.”

“Matt, she has more money than she knows what to do with. Think of the months you’re married to Margaret as a way to help her through her grieving. She needs someone and she wants you. All you’d be doing is giving her what she needs and what she wants. You’d just be … providing a service.”

Matt’s frown darkened.

“Why else do you think her daddy called you in for that little talk?” Sheryl continued persuasively. “He knew that Margaret was going to need you. In his own way, he was asking you to watch over his little girl. And once Margaret understands that, she’ll be grateful. Grateful enough to buy you the Stockert place.”

Matt didn’t like the sound of this. “Bernard warned me not to hurt her.”

“You wouldn’t be hurting her, you’d be helping her through a difficult period in her life. Think about it, Matt. Bernard practically ordered you to step in and take care of his little girl. Besides, she’s in love with you, so she’ll do whatever you ask. It’s only fair that you be compensated for what you’re giving her. You’ll just have to convince her that a year of marriage is worth the price of the Stockert place. And then … you’d have your ranch.”

He wanted Sheryl to shut up; her plan was starting to seem plausible.

“I could quit my job and then the two of us could get married….”

Matt shook his head. “Forget it,” he said. “Besides, once I married Margaret, what makes you think I’d want a divorce?”

Sheryl burst out laughing. “Two things,” she said. “First of all, we’re talking about Margaret Clemens here. She’s got about as much sex appeal as a bag of potatoes.”

Matt couldn’t really argue with that, especially when he looked at Sheryl, with her lush body, large full breasts and long legs. What he’d seen of Margaret, and that was damn little, was no comparison.

“You said two things,” he reminded her.

Sheryl’s sultry smile returned. “I’d make damn sure you wanted to come back to me,” she whispered. As if to prove herself, she showed him exactly what she meant.




Two


Minutes for the November 23rd meeting of the Buffalo Valley Town Council

As recorded by Hassie Knight, Secretary and Treasurer, duly elected.

The meeting was brought to order by council president Joshua McKenna with the Pledge of Allegiance to the American flag. Council members in attendance were Joshua McKenna, Dennis Urlacher, Heath Quantrill, Robert Carr, Gage Sinclair and Hassie Knight. Reverend Larry Dawson was an invited guest.

1. In the matter of old business, Joshua McKenna reported that a new siren has been installed by the Volunteer Fire Department. It will be used to alert the community in the event of a fire and to summon volunteers to the station. While the alarm was being tested, there were several complaints regarding the loud, piercing sound. Mrs. Summerhill, an elderly friend visiting Leta Betts, assumed the siren was an early warning of an air attack and was upset to learn there were no bomb shelters in Buffalo Valley. Joshua McKenna suggested a sign be posted informing visitors about the meaning of the siren.

2. Also in the matter of old business, it was reported that the high school will not be putting on the annual Christmas play this December, due to the birth of Mrs. Sinclair’s daughter. Gage Sinclair provided the council with the most current pictures of two-month-old Joy Leta Sinclair and reported that both mother and daughter are doing well.

3. In the matter of new business, the council officially welcomed Reverend Larry Dawson back to the community. Although his family has long since moved away, Larry has fond memories of growing up in Buffalo Valley. If all goes well, Larry and his wife, Joyce, plan to retire here. A buffet lunch was served following the meeting, catered by Bob Carr of 3 OF A KIND.

4. Joshua McKenna announced that the growth of Buffalo Valley has attracted the attention of our state government. He has been contacted by the governor’s office, inquiring what actions town council has undertaken to bring about the changes. Further to this subject, Dennis Urlacher reported that Sarah now has five full-time employees and has expanded the business into the building connected to the one she now occupies. Because Buffalo Valley Quilts is attracting not only business, but tourists, Dennis suggested a beautification program, including stone flowerpots and flags on each corner for the Fourth of July. The matter was discussed, but a vote delayed until after Christmas.

5. The meeting adjourned at twelve-thirty for the luncheon to welcome Reverend Larry Dawson.

Respectfully submitted,

Hassie Knight

“Bob! Bob!”

Merrily’s cry jolted Buffalo Bob Carr out of a deep sleep. Hearing the panic in his wife’s voice, he instantly threw aside the covers and bolted out of bed. She called him a second time but Bob was already staggering toward Axel’s bedroom. The toddler had been fussy all night and they’d taken turns comforting him. Bob felt sure the two-year-old was coming down with another ear infection. Each bout seemed to be worse than the one before.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

Merrily sat on the edge of the bed with Axel in her arms. “Look. He’s got a rash or something. What is it?”

Bob rubbed his eyes, then stared at the child in the dim light. Axel gazed up at him, his brown eyes filled with fear. Merrily was gazing at him, too, her face anxious.

Bob let out a short, abrupt laugh. “That, my dear wife, is chicken pox. Axel has chicken pox.”

Merrily framed the boy’s face between her hands and studied him intently. “Where did he get them?”

Bob shrugged. “Who knows? It’s contagious. Every kid gets chicken pox at some time or other.”

“But he’s miserable!”

Bob didn’t know much about childhood diseases, but he knew chicken pox was a common enough ailment. “I’ll go and see Hassie in the morning. I’m sure there’s something she can suggest.”

“Daddy, Daddy.” Axel stretched his arms toward Bob.

“I’ll stay with him,” Bob volunteered, knowing Merrily had been up most of the night.

“Thanks,” she whispered, and kissed Axel’s head before she handed him to Bob.

With regret Bob watched her return to their bedroom, wishing he could join her. Instead, he slipped beneath the covers in the narrow single bed and cradled Axel against his chest. The boy rested his head there and whimpered softly. “Hurt, Daddy, hurt.”

Bob pressed his hand against Axel’s forehead and noted that he didn’t have a fever. Merrily had probably already given him Tylenol. “Try to sleep,” Bob urged.

Axel nodded. “Sing the song about nannytucket.”

Grinning, he shook his head. Merrily didn’t approve of his singing off-color ditties to the boy. Especially the one that started “There once was a man from Nantucket.”

Instead he hummed a nursery rhyme the two had learned from a Barney video. Six months ago, if anyone had told him he’d willingly sit with a two-year-old to watch a purple dinosaur, Bob would have called that person a bold-faced liar.

Trusting and small, Axel nestled in his muscular arms. In the faint light, Bob ran his hand over the youngster’s head, still humming softly. He loved the boy as dearly and completely as if they shared the same blood. However, his feelings for Axel hadn’t started out that way.

Nearly four years ago Bob had been riding through Buffalo Valley on his Harley when he met Dave Ertz. Dave owned the bar and grill, which was also the town’s only hotel. He’d been trying to sell it, but when no buyers materialized, Dave—an inventive sort—had thrown a poker game with a thousand-dollar entry fee. The winner got the entire business, lock, stock and barrel. Bob won with three of a kind, hence the bar’s new name.

Bob had been a loner and a drifter all his adult life. Because he rode a Hog, most people assumed he was part of the biker crowd. Bob enjoyed the reputation—he dressed the part, talked the talk—but he’d never been a gang member or participated in gang activities.

He’d been in business a few months, struggling to make ends meet the same way Dave had, when Merrily appeared. He’d recognized immediately that they were two of a kind. Now, with Axel, they were three of a kind. He grinned—three of a kind. Just like the bar.

Merrily had walked in one day looking for a job, and despite his lack of spare cash and customers, he’d hired her on the spot. Bob had sensed then that she was more than simply passing through his town—and his life.

They hit it off, and within weeks, Bob was entertaining thoughts of asking Merrily to move in with him, when suddenly she disappeared. That first time, the second time, too, had unsettled him. After that, he’d realized this was a pattern with her. Sometime around the third year, her visits came fast and furious and then one day, out of the blue, she showed up with Axel.

Bob knew the kid didn’t belong to her. For one thing, the timing was all wrong. And whenever Bob asked her about Axel, she clammed up. Once, when he’d pressured her, she’d flippantly announced she’d won him in a poker game. Funny, real funny.

Not knowing the kid’s background was worry enough, but during those first few weeks, the boy was also a real pain in the butt. He constantly needed attention and no matter what Bob did, Axel refused to look him in the face. The toddler clung to Merrily, which proved to be downright frustrating to a man in need of his woman.

Little by little, the details came out, and Bob learned that the burn scars on Axel’s thighs had come from his father. His parents had physically and mentally abused him; heaven only knew what would’ve happened had Merrily not been there to protect him. When it looked as though they were going to sell Axel to the highest bidder, Merrily had taken him herself. It went without saying that if the authorities were ever to find Axel, she’d be hip-deep in trouble. Him, too, seeing that he was part of all this now.

When he’d heard some of what the little boy had suffered at the hands of his parents, Bob’s heart softened. He hadn’t been keen on sharing Merrily, but she’d made it plain that she and Axel came as a package deal. Within a month he felt as protective toward the boy as Merrily did.

Soon Bob found himself looking forward to spending time with the child. At night, after Axel’s bath, he often read to him. Merrily claimed that Bob’s stories were the only thing Axel would sit still for. Bob had never felt completely responsible for another human being before; now he did. Now he had someone who needed him and loved him unconditionally. In the same way that Merrily was the only mother Axel had, Bob became his father.

After a trip to the doctor’s office, when Axel developed his first ear infection, it became apparent that they were going to need a forged birth certificate. Bob had obtained one; that same day, he bought an engagement ring and asked Merrily to marry him.

She agreed, and their wedding was the best day of his life. The entire town of Buffalo Valley had celebrated with them. Bob had never known such happiness. Merrily was his wife and for all intents and purposes, Axel was his son. Life was good—and he should have known it wouldn’t last. Should have realized that anything this perfect was bound to fall apart, probably sooner rather than later.

He and Merrily had been married only a few weeks when Bob learned that Axel’s picture had appeared on a flyer sponsored by the Foundation for Missing Children. It had circulated throughout the country.

How many had turned up in Buffalo Valley, Bob didn’t know. Most folks tossed them aside without looking carefully, and anyone who might have recognized Axel wasn’t saying. But the fact remained: the authorities were searching for Axel. Not knowing what to do, Bob had discussed the situation with Maddy, who until recently had been employed as a social worker. Circumstances being what they were, Bob wasn’t exactly able to disguise his predicament.

Maddy gave him the name of an attorney in Georgia she said he could trust. A man who specialized in difficult cases like this one.

Yes, Merrily had stolen Axel and transported him over state lines, but in doing so she’d saved his life. Bob’s greatest fear was that if he approached the lawyer, he’d be in danger of losing both Merrily and Axel. His life wouldn’t be worth living without them. But the crazy part, the incredible part, was that no one seemed to have connected Axel with the boy in the flyer. Within a few weeks, Bob began to believe they’d had a lucky escape, so he’d done nothing more. He hadn’t called the lawyer. Why look for trouble? In the months since, the only people they’d allowed near Axel were townsfolk. No one had questioned either Merrily or him about the boy, and he trusted that the people in this town, whether they were aware of the truth or not, would protect the family as much as possible.

Axel stirred, and Bob could see that the boy had fallen asleep. Lovingly, he leaned down and kissed his forehead. No one was taking this child away. As God was his witness, he wouldn’t let that happen.

“Sleep well, little man,” he whispered, awake and alert.

Three weeks following the burial of Bernard Clemens, Matt Eilers decided to pay Margaret a condolence visit. Sheryl continually pestered him about it, wanting to know when he intended to see the dead rancher’s daughter. She’d gone so far as to tell him what to say and how to act. The idea of marrying Margaret Clemens—or any woman—for money was repugnant to him. Sheryl tried to make it sound as though he’d be doing the poor girl a favor, but Matt wasn’t naive enough to swallow that. He did, however, feel almost sorry for Margaret. She wasn’t outright homely, but she wasn’t pretty, either. Tall and skinny, she didn’t have much of a shape. She was definitely lacking in charm and in social skills, and she seemed rather lonely.

Sheryl argued that Margaret was ripe for the picking and if Matt didn’t marry her, then someone less scrupulous would. Of all the arguments she’d put forth, that one struck him as true.

Snow had fallen the week before, and his tires crunched on the gravel drive as he pulled to a stop in the Clemens yard. No one came out to greet him, so he moved onto the back porch and with his hat in his hand, waited for someone to answer his knock.

The housekeeper appeared. Her name was Sadie, he recalled from that first and only visit. It suited her—a plain, old-fashioned name. “You’re here to see Margaret?” she asked, her gruff tone devoid of welcome.

“I’d like to pay my respects.”

“Seems to me you’re about three weeks late.”

Matt let the comment slide. He knew one thing for sure: if he did marry Margaret, the first thing he’d do was hire a different housekeeper. The thought pulled him up short. Sheryl was getting to him. He wasn’t going to marry Margaret, no matter how many arguments Sheryl advanced.

He remembered reading advice from Ann Landers years ago, in a newspaper he’d found in a doctor’s waiting room. She’d said something to the effect that the people who worked hardest for their money were those who married for it. Matt wasn’t in the habit of shying away from real work, and he didn’t intend to live off anyone else. When he was able to buy the Stockert ranch, it would be with money he’d earned himself.

“Margaret’s in the barn,” the housekeeper told him. Her gaze narrowed as if she were Bernard Clemens himself warning Matt to tread lightly around his daughter.

“How is she?”

Sadie paused. “She has good days and she has bad days.”

“She was close to her father, wasn’t she?”

The housekeeper nodded. “Mr. Clemens was a good man. Margaret is a good person, too.” With that, she slammed the door, leaving him to make his own way to the barn. Not that Matt needed anyone to draw him a map, but he would have appreciated at least the pretense of welcome.

He found Margaret inside the huge structure that put his own barn to shame. She was dressed in a heavy coat and thick boots; a knit cap covered her head. Her hair, which she’d grown over the past year, was pulled away from her face and tied at the base of her neck. He could see she’d had it curled. Working at a fast and furious pace, she pitched hay into an empty stall, her back toward him. Matt breathed in the satisfying scents of horses, straw and well-oiled leather.

“Margaret,” Matt called softly, not wanting to frighten her.

She whirled around and when she saw him, she stood transfixed, as if she’d been waiting for exactly this moment for a very long time. “Matt!”

“I wanted to stop by and tell you how sorry I am about your father.”

She stared at him with wide, adoring eyes, then raised her sleeve to her red nose, cheeks ruddy with exertion. So it was true, what Bernard had said—she was in love with him. But despite Sheryl’s urging, he refused to do anything about it. He wouldn’t lead Margaret to believe he reciprocated her feelings—or that they had any kind of future.

“I knew you’d come,” she whispered.

He looked away, embarrassed that it’d taken him three weeks to make an appearance. “I meant to get here before this.”

Her timid smile forgave him and he wanted to kick himself. Sheryl was right, even if her reasons were wrong; he should have come earlier.

“Your father was highly thought of around here.”

Margaret nodded, and he could see by the way her lip trembled that she was fighting back emotion. “I miss him something fierce.”

“I know you do.” Matt remembered when his own father died. He’d been fifteen, an age when it was difficult to express grief. He’d feared that if other kids saw him cry, they’d call him a sissy, so he’d lashed out at his mother. Why, he didn’t know. Probably because his parents had divorced and he’d blamed her, always blamed her. She never knew—or perhaps she did—that he’d been the person who’d slashed her tires. He’d done it in a fit of rage, and that had been the beginning of trouble for him. Before he was out of his teen years, he’d had more than one scrape with the law.

Now his mother, too, was dead, and he carried a double load of grief—and guilt. He didn’t think about his parents much, not anymore, but the memories never quite left him.

“Would you like to come inside?”

Her eyes were hopeful, and Matt didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.

“I’d offer you a beer, but Maddy told me—” She closed her mouth abruptly and blushed. “Sadie keeps a pot of coffee on all day.”

“Coffee would be fine. I can’t stay long.” Especially if Sadie was going to be giving him the evil eye. What had Maddy told her? he wondered next. That he drank too much? That he couldn’t be trusted? Obviously, his reputation had preceded him.

Margaret led the way into the house, stopping just inside the heated porch to remove her jacket and boots; he did the same. She opened the kitchen door and they were greeted by an array of warm, inviting smells. Matt glanced around, relieved that Sadie was nowhere in sight.

Matt noted the coveralls Margaret wore. They were shapeless and about the most unflattering piece of clothing she could have chosen. Yet when she stood on tiptoe to reach for a cup in the top cupboard, he was stunned to see that she had a halfway decent body.

Scolding himself, Matt forced his gaze elsewhere.

“Sadie bakes the most delicious cookies,” she told him as she opened the cookie jar and placed a dozen or so on a china plate. “I’d suggest we sit in the den, but neither of us is dressed for it.”

Margaret slowly approached the table, carrying a serving tray with two small china cups, sugar, cream and the plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“I’ll pour,” she announced grandly, as if this feat required unusual skill. She left and returned with the coffeepot and filled each floral-patterned cup to the brim, then smiled hesitantly, apparently awaiting his approval.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, uncertain what was expected of him. He felt nervous even touching the dainty porcelain cup, afraid he might snap off the delicate handle.

“This set belonged to my mother,” Margaret explained as she sat across the table from him.

“It’s very nice.”

“It’s all I have of her, except for the jewelry my father gave her, but I’ve never worn any of that.”

Rather than risk breaking the cup, Matt gingerly lifted it with both hands. There was a long silence. “I hope you’re adjusting,” he finally blurted out. “To your father’s death, I mean.”

Margaret didn’t reply right away, then said, “I’m trying.”

“Is there anything I can do?” His gaze held hers. He was surprised to realize what pretty eyes she had. Huge. A startling dark blue. Glossy black lashes. She stared at him, her expression completely rapt. Meeting her eyes for any length of time proved disconcerting and he promptly looked elsewhere. The girl had it bad, he thought with a sinking sensation. He wanted to warn her off, tell her she was making a mistake, but he couldn’t find the words. The women he dated knew the score, but Margaret was as innocent as a newborn calf. Naive, too, and completely inexperienced; that was obvious. What he needed to do was leave, and the sooner the better.

“I appreciate the offer, but there’s nothing anyone can do,” Margaret told him.

It took Matt a moment to realize she was answering his question. He nodded. “Well …”

“The ranch is going to be all right,” she went on.

Matt took a discreet sip of his coffee. “If you find you need anything, let me know.”

Now it was her turn to nod. “I will. Thank you for offering.”

“I’m sincere, Margaret,” he surprised himself by saying. “You’re a capable rancher and I don’t mean to imply otherwise, but there are times when neighbors need to rely on one another. I’m here for you, understand?” He told himself he would have said the same thing to any local rancher who’d suffered a loss or some sort of crisis.

“And I’m here for you,” she said in a low voice.

Matt downed the last of his coffee in one gulp, eager to be on his way. He’d stayed longer than he wanted, longer than required.

“You’re leaving?” she blurted.

“It’s time I headed out,” he said. Matt could tell she was disappointed, but she didn’t employ any clever means of detaining him. That was one of Sheryl’s tricks. He’d make noises about going home and she’d find some excuse to keep him with her. He had to give her credit; she was inventive—and often very sexy. Lately he’d been more conscious of her efforts and had become amused at the things she’d said and done to delay him. Sheryl could be one manipulative little devil.

“I’ll walk you to your truck,” Margaret told him, taking the coffee cups and tray to the kitchen counter.

He started to tell her that wasn’t necessary, then changed his mind. Being stared at by a woman’s adoring eyes was a flattering sensation, and Matt wasn’t beyond enjoying it.

Margaret quickly put her mud-caked boots back on her feet. She buttoned her coat all the way to her chin and stuck a knit cap on her head without any concern about what it did to her hair.

“I appreciate your stopping by,” she told him as they reached the truck.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“I am, too.” She blushed then, as if she regretted having said this.

“If you’d like, I could stop by again.”

Her eyes flared with excitement. “I wish you would.”

Matt wasn’t sure what had prompted the offer. His ranch adjoined the Clemens property but this was only the second time he’d come to the house. Dropping by unannounced wasn’t a habit he planned to cultivate.

“Come any time,” she added, “any time at all.” She sounded so pleased and excited.

What happened then was something Matt would always wonder about. One moment he was preparing to climb into his truck and the next he’d wrapped his arms around Margaret Clemens the way he would Sheryl. He kissed her. He wasn’t sure why—curiosity, he supposed. He couldn’t keep himself from finding out what it would be like to kiss her. Since she hadn’t expected a kiss, it wasn’t fair to judge. But he did, mainly because he was kind of shocked. As kisses went, it was pretty good. No, damn good. Uncomplicated and—he hated to use this word—sweet. With other women, those with experience, a kiss was never simple. It involved tongues and teeth and it was often explosive with passion and need. A kiss hadn’t been innocent for him in a very long while.

He broke it off and released her. Margaret faltered and would have stumbled backward if he hadn’t caught her by the shoulders.

An apology would be appropriate, but he wasn’t sorry. If he was anything, it was confused.

“I’ll check up on you later in the week,” he managed to say.

She nodded and pressed the back of her hand to her lips. Her eyes were wide and jubilant, her lashes fluttering as if she didn’t know how to react.

Matt drove out of the yard and was halfway down the driveway when he glanced in his rearview mirror. Margaret stood there unmoving, her hand still against her lips, staring after him.

“That’s it,” Matt said aloud, shaken and bewildered by his own actions. “I’m not coming back. Not for anything.”

Calla Stern had expected her troubles to be over when she moved in with her father in Minneapolis. Her mother and Dennis Urlacher had publicly announced their engagement and hadn’t even bothered to let her know beforehand. Although she supposed if they had approached her, it would have been a wasted effort. She wanted nothing to do with Dennis, and no way did she want to be part of their perfect little family. Not in this lifetime!

Calla had always disliked Dennis. If it wasn’t for Dennis, she told herself, her parents might have reconciled when she was younger. She detested them both—Dennis and her mother—for the things they’d done, sneaking around, pretending no one knew they were having an affair. When Calla learned that her mother wasn’t even divorced at the time, she’d felt sickened by their disgusting behavior. Later, she’d been insulted and furious that they’d decided to get married and completely excluded her from their plans. Obviously they didn’t want her in their lives. Well, that was fine with her; Buffalo Valley was such a hick town and she’d wanted to get out of there, anyway. So it seemed fitting that she’d run away the night Dennis and her mother announced their engagement.

Living with her father, however, had turned out to be less than ideal. She’d been five when her parents separated, and her memories of Willie Stern had been hazy. Over the past eleven years he’d sent her the occasional postcard and intermittently kept in touch. Without realizing it, Calla had placed him on a pedestal—from which he’d quickly tumbled. Her view of Willie Stern had completely changed by the end of her first week with him.

Despite that, she still felt she’d had no choice. After her mother decided to marry Dennis, Calla had packed her bags, borrowed her grandfather’s truck and driven into Grand Forks, where she caught the bus to Minneapolis. It would be an understatement to say that Willie was surprised by her sudden appearance on his doorstep, but he’d let her move in with him.

For the first time in conscious memory, Calla had the opportunity to live in a real city with shopping malls, brand-name clothing stores and a school with more than twenty-five students. She didn’t need to order an outfit on the Internet or from a catalogue but could walk into a store and try it on in a real dressing room. She had the opportunity to meet lots of other kids her own age, not just a handful. It didn’t matter that her father had been such a bitter disappointment. Soon after her arrival she’d run away from Willie’s place, but when her mother and Dennis came to collect her, she’d chosen to go back with her father rather than return to Buffalo Valley. She could put up with Willie more easily than she could accept the idea of Dennis Urlacher as her stepfather.

“You get those floors mopped?” Jason Jefferies asked.

Jason was only a year older than she was, but he was the manager of the BurgerHaven where Calla worked part-time. “Didn’t you notice? I finished half an hour ago,” she said, unable to contain her sarcasm.

“Don’t give me attitude,” Jason snapped. “I got three friends who’d jump at the chance to work here. You give me a reason to fire you, Calla, and you’re outta here.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a falsely sweet smile. Much as she hated to admit it, she needed this job. Her father’s income was erratic, its source questionable. And he sure didn’t share it with her. The reverse, in fact. Not waiting for a response, she turned and walked away.

Willie wasn’t the only disappointment Calla had to face. The high school back in Buffalo Valley had twenty-five students. Twenty-five. The one she attended in Minneapolis had over three thousand—more people than lived in her hometown and the surrounding county. Finding her way from classroom to classroom before the bell rang was a major challenge. She’d already gotten nine tardy slips. One more and she’d be ordered to afternoon detention.

One teacher, Mr. Simon, had been totally unreasonable. She had swimming in fifth period, and her sixth-period algebra class was on the third floor in the east wing. A sprinter couldn’t have covered that distance in five minutes! Mr. Simon docked her grade one full point every time she was late, and that was totally unfair. Her jaw tightened whenever she thought about it. The only classes in which she got decent grades were art and drama, because she’d volunteered to sew costumes for the senior production. They were doing The Importance of Being Earnest, and that meant lots of intricate Victorian dresses. Calla could lose herself in working with the patterns and fabric, in getting the details perfect.

Jason dimmed the lights and was ready to close the BurgerHaven.

Swallowing her pride, Calla approached him. “Any chance you could give me a ride home?”

He didn’t like doing it, she knew, but waiting for the bus by herself unnerved her. A couple of men had harassed her one night, and she’d had nightmares about it ever since. She hated to ask Jason for a ride, but she didn’t have any other means of getting home, besides the bus.

“You’ll have to pay.”

Calla nodded. What a jerk. He collected an hour’s wages for driving her one block out of his way. If he charged her any more, she might as well take a taxi.

Jason wasn’t the talkative sort and they rode in silence. Calla had hoped to make friends before now, but it hadn’t happened. School had been in session nearly three months, and she didn’t have one friend. Not even one. Trying to get to class on time was difficult enough.

Her father was sprawled in front of the television when she let herself into the apartment. She brought the mail and the free neighborhood newspaper in with her.

“You bring me anything?” he asked, not moving his gaze from the television screen.

“Not tonight.”

That got his attention. “They throw away all the stuff that doesn’t get sold, so why the hell not bring me a taco burger?”

Calla wondered if it ever occurred to him that they might not have leftovers. “There weren’t any,” she said, tired and out of sorts. It’s after ten, she wanted to scream. Leave me alone!

“Damn! I was all set for a taco burger, too. I don’t suppose you could get me dinner?” He looked beseechingly toward her.

Like she was a magician and could pull a decent meal out of a top hat. “Get you dinner?” she repeated. “With what?”

He leaned back and dug into his pants pocket and tossed her his car keys. “With these.”

Calla left the keys on the floor where they’d fallen. She set down her books and sorted through the mail, although it was mostly dunning letters from bill collectors and a few advertising circulars. She paused when she saw the envelope with her mother’s familiar writing. This wasn’t the first letter she’d received, and her reaction was always the same—hope and excitement. Even though she didn’t want to feel anything for her mother.

Sarah Stern had lied to her, and Calla refused to forgive her—for that and a truckload of other faults. The biggest of which was marrying Dennis Urlacher.

“You going or not?” her father demanded.

Calla barely heard him. A wave of homesickness threatened to drown her. She missed Buffalo Valley, missed her friends and her old job at The Pizza Parlor and even her old school. Her mother had ruined everything by marrying Dennis. Calla’s entire life had been stolen from her and it was their fault.

“What’s that?” Willie asked.

“A letter from Mom.”

“She send me any money?”

Calla rolled her eyes. Willie insisted that if Sarah wasn’t paying him the child support he thought he was entitled to, then Calla had to pay rent. Therefore, Calla paid rent.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

“Yes,” she said, and headed toward her bedroom. When she did read the letter, she had no intention of doing it in front of him.

Sitting on the side of her bed, Calla stared at the envelope. It was thick, as if it included something extra. Her curiosity got the better of her and she tore it open. Inside were an airline ticket and a letter. She unfolded the letter.

Dear Calla,

I haven’t been able to reach you by phone to ask about your plans for Thanksgiving. I’m hoping you can arrange to make it home for a few days. It would mean a great deal to me. I miss you, Calla. I realize I haven’t been the world’s best mother, and I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but I do love you.

On the chance you can get away, I’ve enclosed an airline ticket. The flight leaves Minneapolis Wednesday afternoon and returns on Sunday morning. Dennis and I would pick you up at the airport in Grand Forks. If you’re uncomfortable staying with Dennis and me, then your grandfather wanted you to know you could have your old room at his house.

Everything’s going well here in Buffalo Valley. Dennis and I bought the old Habberstad house. The two of us rattle around in it, but we both enjoy decorating it. With five bedrooms you could have your pick if you decided you wanted to move back home.

You haven’t answered my letters or taken any of my calls. I know you’re angry with me, Calla, and I’m sorry. It’s time we settled all this. Don’t you think so, too?

Love,

Mom

“What did she have to say?” Willie asked, standing in her bedroom doorway.

“Nothing,” Calla muttered, stuffing the letter inside her backpack.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the airline ticket she’d set beside her on the bed.

“A ticket.”

He laughed. “Home for Thanksgiving, right?”

Calla didn’t answer.

“Home sweet home with Mommy and her new husband. You’re not going, are you?”

“I haven’t decided.”

He glared at her. “I was hoping you and I could spend the day together.”

Calla recognized that for the bribe it was.

“It’ll be the first Thanksgiving we’ve had in eleven years. You aren’t walking out on me now, are you, kid?”

“I said I hadn’t made up my mind yet.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed. “Did she tell you she’s pregnant?”

Calla’s gaze flew to her father. He was baiting her and she refused to bite. It would be just like Willie to make this up, but at the same time Calla knew that Dennis wanted a family. She supposed her mother could be pregnant. Still, she wasn’t sure she could trust Willie.

“She told me so herself,” he muttered.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ask her, then. She was saving it as a big secret, but she spilled the beans last time she called.”

Calla frowned uncertainly. Her father had a habit of lying, of saying exactly what she wanted to hear. Or didn’t want to hear, depending on the reaction he was after.

“I’ll tell you what,” Willie said, sounding bored with the subject. “You do what you want for Thanksgiving. Stay or go, it’s up to you. But as for your mother having a baby, ask yourself what you think is true.” With that, he left.

Calla stared down at the airline ticket. Then, with a deep sigh, jumped to her feet and threw it onto the rickety dresser beside the bed.

Her mother had made her choice, and she’d picked Dennis Urlacher over her.




Three


Rachel Fischer sat in a corner of her restaurant kitchen, where she kept her computer and desk. Writing out a check for the final payment of her loan from the Buffalo County Bank, she signed her name with a flair—and a deep sense of satisfaction. She ripped the check from the book, then stared at it, absorbing the significance of the moment. From this point forward, she was out of debt and free to pursue a relationship with Heath Quantrill, the bank president.

With the last of her bills paid for the month, she put on her hat and coat and headed for the bank. She walked briskly, facing the wind. Normally, the cold cut straight through her, but not today. She hadn’t seen Heath in a few weeks and looked forward to personally handing him the check.

He served as the senior loan officer and manager and worked at the Buffalo Valley branch three days a week, spending the other two at the bank’s headquarters in Grand Forks.

Rachel and Heath had an on-again/off-again relationship that she’d wasted copious hours analyzing. But over the summer their romance had grown serious and they saw one another exclusively. Since Rachel was a widow, much of her time went into supporting herself and her son. Heath wanted her to go out with him more often, but that was impossible and often a source of conflict. He’d suggested that if she invested as much time in their relationship as she did in her business, she need never worry about working again. The memory of that conversation infuriated her whenever she thought about it.

This past year had been difficult for them. She’d expanded both the hours and the menu of her weekend pizza delivery service—to reasonably consistent success. After paying off her original loan—for the pizza oven—she’d borrowed from the bank again to purchase tables and chairs and had turned her restaurant into a sit-down place serving dinner five days a week.

Her parents owned the building, so her rent was low. They’d operated the Morningside Café for many years, until the diner simply couldn’t survive in such a difficult economic climate. It’d broken her mother’s heart to leave Buffalo Valley and she’d pleaded with Rachel to join them in Arizona.

A recent widow at the time, Rachel had debated long and hard about uprooting her young son, and eventually decided against it. Mark had endured enough upheaval in his life after the loss of his father. Besides, every book she’d read on widowhood suggested she delay making a major decision for at least twelve months.

In order to support herself, Rachel drove the school bus and worked as a part-time bookkeeper for Knight’s Pharmacy. She was barely scraping by when she came up with the idea of starting her own pizza parlor. Actually, it was her son who’d made the suggestion, claiming her homemade pizza was better than the pizza he’d eaten in a fast-food restaurant at a friend’s birthday party in Grand Forks.

That was when she’d first met Heath Quantrill. Business plan in hand, she’d gone to the bank to apply for a loan. Heath had read over her application, and then, with barely a pause, refused her. True, she had nothing for collateral, although she’d offered her wedding band. She realized that on paper her business venture didn’t look promising, but she was young, healthy, ambitious and determined. In addition, she’d been around the restaurant business her entire life. Heath had taken none of that into account.

The next few days had been bleak ones for Rachel. Then, to her amazement, Heath had phoned and announced he’d changed his mind. He’d never actually told her why, but she had her suspicions. Hassie Knight was good friends with Lily Quantrill, Heath’s grandmother, and Rachel strongly suspected that Hassie had mentioned the loan to Lily, who had persuaded Heath to relent. Knowing Lily, she didn’t think the persuasion had been of the gentle variety.

The bank was busy when Rachel walked in. Both tellers had lineups. Joanie Wyatt was there with her toddler son, and Steve Baylor, a local farmer, stood behind her. Even before she’d opened her restaurant, Rachel knew everyone in town. That wasn’t saying much, though, since almost everyone knew everyone else. It was one of the advantages of living in a small town. And one of the disadvantages—when tongues wagged and other people got involved in her personal business. But for the most part she considered it a blessing.

Heath, who was in his private office, was chatting with Carl Hooper, the manager of the JCPenney catalogue store. His door was half-open, and he glanced up when she came into the bank. He smiled, clearly pleased to see her.

Content to wait, Rachel took a chair. The bank was the only brick building in town, and one of the nicest, inside and out. Heath’s grandparents had founded Buffalo County Bank shortly after World War II and over the years had expanded to ten branches across the state. Their only son and his wife had died within a short time of each other, leaving two sons, Max and Heath. The elder, Max, was the one who’d revealed an interest in the business and Lily, by now a widow, was grooming him to take over as president. Then Max had been killed in a car crash, and Heath, the playboy adventurer, had returned from Europe to take his brother’s place. It hadn’t been easy to step into Max’s shoes, and Heath had struggled with finding his own path these past few years.

Carl Hooper left five minutes later and Rachel sprang from her seat, then walked into Heath’s office, approaching his desk.

“Hello,” he said, standing to greet her. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.” Oddly, she felt almost shy now that she actually faced him. They stared at each other a moment before Rachel explained the purpose of her visit. “I have two things for you,” she announced, pulling out the chair recently vacated by Carl Hooper.

“Two?” Heath raised his brows and sat down himself.

“First of all,” she said, opening her purse, “this, as far as I’m aware, is the final payment on my second loan.” She handed him the check, stretching her arm across his desk.

“And as far as I’m aware, you’re right,” Heath said as he took her check. He looked expectantly back at her.

“Also,” she said, feeling flustered and excited, “I have an answer for you.”

“Really.” His voice became suspiciously unemotional. They’d talked about marriage a number of times, but Rachel had always managed to put him off. It didn’t seem right to accept an engagement ring while she owed him money. Now the loan was paid off, she felt free to change that.

“I love you, Heath,” she whispered, wishing she’d chosen the time and place more carefully. In her excitement, she’d rushed to the bank without careful thought. This was a public place, after all—not to mention that Heath’s office door was still half-open.

“And?” he prodded.

“Aren’t you going to tell me you love me, too?” she asked, thinking it was within his power to make this easier.

“No. If you don’t know my feelings by now, then my telling you isn’t going to make a damn bit of difference.”

She could tell he was enjoying himself. He’d leaned back against his leather chair, playing the role of bank president to the hilt.

“If that’s the case, I just might change my mind.”

“Before you do, tell me what’s on your mind,” he cajoled.

Rachel figured he was entitled to that much. “Being your wife.”

A smile exploded across his face, and he released a long, deep sigh. “At last.”

Rachel agreed; it had been a long time coming, but now she was sure this was what she wanted, what was right for Heath, and for her and Mark.

“What took you so long?” he asked, coming around to her side of the desk.

He didn’t know? Hadn’t figured it out himself? “I made the last payment,” she said, standing to meet him. “I couldn’t agree to become your wife while I owed you money.”

“Sure, you could have,” he argued and then, right there in front of anyone who cared to look, he kissed her.

Rachel quickly became absorbed in the kiss, twining her arms around his neck, but not so absorbed that she didn’t notice how quiet the bank had become. When Heath broke off the kiss, he gently disengaged her and hurried to his door. Flinging it wide-open, he called out, “We’re engaged!”

His announcement was instantly followed by a chorus of congratulations and applause from staff and customers alike. Just as quickly the questions came.

“When’s the wedding?”

“Does Lily know?”

“You aren’t closing down The Pizza Parlor, are you?”

“You’re going to live in Buffalo Valley, right?”

Rachel and Heath glanced at each other, but they didn’t seem to have any ready answers. At least Rachel didn’t.

“The wedding’s soon. Very soon,” Heath insisted, his arm around Rachel’s slim waist. “Right?”

Rachel blushed and nodded.

“We’ll tell Lily this evening,” Heath continued, and once more looked to her for confirmation.

“I won’t be closing the restaurant,” she added. This had been the subject of repeated arguments between her and Heath. He didn’t want her to work, but the restaurant was hers and she wasn’t willing to give it up simply because she was marrying a wealthy man, although she did plan on hiring extra help.

“You won’t?” Heath sounded surprised.

“No,” she returned and elbowed him in the ribs.

“They aren’t even married yet,” Steve Baylor cried, “and they’re already arguing.”

“Every couple has issues they need to settle,” Joanie Wyatt said calmly. Joanie should know; she’d recently reconciled with her husband after a yearlong separation. She and her husband, Brandon, were a good example of a couple who’d worked through the problems in their marriage.

“Rachel wants to stay right here in Buffalo Valley,” Heath told everyone.

“I do,” she concurred. She hadn’t said anything to Heath yet, but she could see several needs arising in the community, prime business opportunities. With the success of her restaurant and Sarah’s quilting company, Buffalo Valley was badly in need of a day-care center. Now that she had five full-time employees sewing for her, Sarah was expecting more women to come into town—some to buy quilts and some, eventually, to work for her. All of this meant the bank’s, and therefore Heath’s, increasing involvement with the town.

“You gonna kiss her again?” Steve asked.

Heath laughed. “I plan to do a lot more than kiss her. Come on,” he said to Rachel, reaching for her hand. “If there was ever a time for a celebration lunch, this is it.”

Rachel couldn’t agree more.

Matt Eilers had kissed her. Even a week later, Margaret could hardly believe it had actually happened. In bed at night, she closed her eyes and relived the kiss. Nothing in the world could be more wonderful than Matt’s wanting her.

Sure, she’d been kissed before. Well … once. By a ranch hand employed by her father. Briefly employed. She’d been sixteen, physically underdeveloped, and as naive as they come. She was an adult now and eager to have Matt introduce her to adult experience. To show her what being a woman really meant.

For seven days she’d kept the kissing incident to herself, afraid that if she shared it with anyone else, something would be lost. But when she didn’t hear from Matt again, Margaret knew she needed help in sorting out the significance of what had happened. Since Matt had kissed her once, surely that meant he’d be interested in doing it again—didn’t it? But she hadn’t seen her neighbor since. The only person she could ask about such things was Maddy Washburn McKenna.

Taking the truck, Margaret drove over to Maddy and Jeb’s, hoping to catch Maddy when she wasn’t busy with the baby. Margaret had been present when Julianne Marjorie McKenna was born, and she still considered it one of the most exciting days of her life. Over the years she’d helped a lot of calves into this world, but she’d never witnessed a human birth. Julianne’s was exhilarating, a truly spectacular event in Margaret’s existence.

She knew labor and delivery weren’t easy on a woman; she’d been there to see Maddy’s struggles. But after holding that precious baby in her arms, Margaret had understood why a woman would willingly undergo such pain.

As she rolled into the McKennas’ yard and parked, Maddy waved to her from the kitchen window.

Margaret waved back. She hurried out of the cold and wind and onto the back porch, automatically slipping off her coat, hat and gloves.

“Margaret!” Maddy said, opening the back door for her. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Maddy had a way of making everyone feel welcome and … special, and Margaret wasn’t immune to her enthusiasm.

“This is a wonderful surprise,” Maddy went on.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Margaret was careful to avoid making a pest of herself. Jeb and Maddy hadn’t been married long and there was the baby, too. Maddy was her closest friend, and she didn’t want anything to disrupt their bond.

“This is perfect timing. Jeb’s out with the herd and the baby’s napping. How about a pot of tea? The water’s already on.”

“Sure.” She didn’t really want tea, but it was one of the rituals of their friendship.

A few minutes later, Maddy carried a steeping pot of tea into the living room and Margaret dutifully followed.

“How have you been?” Maddy asked. They’d spoken on the phone at least once a week, and Maddy always asked that question.

Margaret knew it wasn’t her health Maddy was referring to, but her life now that her father was gone. She shrugged, saying what she usually did. “All right, I guess.” After a moment’s reflection, she continued, “A dozen times a day I find myself thinking I need to talk to Dad about this or that. When I realize I can’t ever ask him anything again, this … this feeling of emptiness comes over me.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “Some days don’t seem as bad as others, but there are days I don’t think I can go on.”

“It takes time.”

Margaret knew that. “I’m doing what you suggested the day of the funeral and that’s to remember how fortunate I was to have him as long as I did. His life was a blessing to a lot of people.”

“I said that?”

Margaret nodded. “Maybe not in those exact words.”

Maddy poured the tea and smiled in amusement. “Sometimes I sound so wise, I astonish myself.”

“You are wise—you understand about people. Actually that’s the reason I came over,” Margaret said, sitting back on the sofa and cradling her mug with both hands. She paused, hesitant to proceed.

Maddy said nothing, her expression quizzical.

“Matt Eilers stopped by last week to offer his condolences.”

Maddy added a spoonful of sugar to her tea. “He’s a little late, don’t you think?”

“He apologized for that,” Margaret said, quick to defend him. She took a deep breath. “When he was ready to leave, I walked him out to his truck….”

“And?” Maddy seemed to sense something important had happened because she gazed steadily at Margaret as she waited for her to go on.

“Well, before he left—” she paused a second time “—now, I don’t want you to misjudge him … I realize Matt isn’t one of your favorite people.”

“I don’t dislike him,” Maddy assured her.

“But you don’t trust him.”

Maddy stirred her tea with no comment, then said, “I can be fair. You’d better tell me.”

Margaret was dying to do so. “Oh, Maddy, he kissed me and it was just as wonderful as I dreamed it would be. At first, I didn’t know what to think, since it was such a surprise and all. He started to open his truck door, then turned back, took me by the shoulders and out of the blue, he kissed me!”

“He kissed you,” Maddy repeated in a low voice.

“Yes, and Maddy, oh Maddy, it was wonderful!”

“I’m sure it was….”

“I realize every other woman in the entire universe has more experience with men than I do.” If it wasn’t for Matt, she probably wouldn’t care to this day. Being a woman, all that feminine stuff, was something she’d never had any interest in. She’d considered it trivial and, more than that, irrelevant. Most people blamed her father for not seeing to the proper upbringing of a little girl. But that was unfair. Few understood that she’d loved him so much she was determined to fulfill his every wish. Bernard Clemens had wanted a son, so Margaret had spent her entire life trying to be one.

The first time she’d felt a woman’s emotions had been a shock. Matt Eilers was the reason for that revelation. One day she saw him and it felt as if she’d been hit over the head with a frying pan. He was the most gorgeous creature she’d ever laid eyes on and she wanted him in the worst way. Wanted him the way a woman wants a man.

“Now all I think about is Matt’s kiss … except when I’m feeling depressed about my dad.”

“Oh, Margaret …”

“No, listen, I’m happy he did it. Really happy—but I don’t know what it means.”

Maddy didn’t appear to have an immediate answer herself. She kept stirring her tea until any sugar had long dissolved. “I don’t know what to suggest,” she said finally.

“The problem is, I haven’t seen him since,” Margaret murmured, unable to hide how discouraged this made her feel. “Do you think he didn’t like the kiss—that I might have done it wrong?”

“No.” At least Maddy sounded confident about that.

“What should I do?” she asked next. Her friend usually had answers.

“Do?” Maddy echoed, seemingly lost in thought. She set her cup aside and leaned forward, taking Margaret’s hand between both of hers. “Listen carefully. I know how you feel about Matt.”

“I love him,” she stated simply.

“But I want you to promise me you’ll be careful about starting any kind of relationship with him.”

So Maddy was afraid Matt would take advantage of her. Margaret understood why her friend might react that way, but deep down, Margaret knew otherwise. She’d seen his surprised look after he’d kissed her. He hadn’t come to seduce her; she would have bet the ranch on that. Nor was she as naive as others, including Matt, assumed. Inexperienced, yes. Naive, no.

They sat and visited for another thirty minutes before the baby cried and Margaret decided it was time to go. Maddy collected the still-sleepy infant and walked Margaret to the door, promising to call in a few days.

As she drove back to the Triple C, Margaret remembered something her father had often told her. If you have a question or a doubt, go straight to the source. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of that earlier. If she had any questions about Matt’s kiss or his motives, all she needed to do was ask him.

With renewed purpose, she drove past her own ranch and headed toward his, pulling into the large yard. The Stockerts had been neighbors and friends of her father’s for years, but had moved when beef prices plummeted dramatically. The house had sat vacant until Matt arrived, leasing the property from the retired couple. He’d started out small, which was smart, building his herd each year. The house needed plenty of repairs and a coat of paint. But why should he paint a house that wasn’t his? Matt put everything he earned back into his herd.

Margaret parked the truck, then got out and glanced around. It appeared that Matt wasn’t there. She was about to leave when she saw him walk out of the barn. Once again she was struck by his stunning good looks—stunning at least to her.

Suddenly Margaret felt insecure and self-conscious, and she experienced those emotions as a physical sensation. She didn’t like the uncomfortable feeling that settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Margaret.” He touched the brim of his hat in welcome.

“Matt.” She touched her own.

They stood three feet apart with the cold drifting in around them. She supposed other people would gradually lead into the purpose of a visit, but she was beyond pretense.

“Why did you kiss me?” she asked, surprised by how cool and even her voice remained. The question had plagued her for days, had practically consumed her, yet she’d made it sound as if she was asking about the price of feed.

His eyes met and held hers. Then, looking discomfited, he shrugged. “I can’t rightly say.”

“You plan on doing it again?”

His gaze shifted away from hers. “What makes you ask?”

Wait a minute. She was the one asking the questions here. “Don’t answer my question with one of your own. That’s unfair.”

“There are rules to this conversation?”

“You just did it again,” she cried, exasperated.

At that, Matt burst out laughing.

Despite the seriousness of her concerns, Margaret laughed, too.

“You’re fortunate you caught me. I was out on the range earlier, looking for stray cattle.”

“We’ve had a lot of rain lately.” They both knew what that meant. The wet weather could bring about symptoms of bloat in the calves; they required careful watching.

As it happened, Matt had brought a sick calf into the barn and before long, Margaret was down on her knees, checking him over.

“What do you think?” he asked.

If Margaret knew anything, it was cattle. “I’d get the vet out here if you hope to save him.”

Matt nodded gravely. “I already put in a call to Doc Lenz in Devils Lake, but he said there’s not much he could do that I haven’t already done.”

Talking softly to the sick calf, Margaret stroked his sleek neck. Hardened rancher or not, she hated to see anything suffer. She comforted the calf as it lay dying, tears springing to her eyes. She continued to stroke the calf’s face long after it was gone. When she realized Matt was watching her, she got abruptly to her feet and glanced at her watch. “I’d better go home.”

He stood, too. “I’ll walk you out.”

They strolled silently back to her truck, and she wondered if he was as reluctant to let her go as she was to leave. “You never did answer my question,” she reminded him.

He grinned and shook his head. “You’re right, I didn’t.”

“It isn’t the proper thing for a woman to ask, is it?”

He buried his hands deep in his coat pockets. “I don’t see why not. If you’d kissed me, I’d want to know why.”

Really. Then perhaps she should do exactly that. Catching him by surprise, she reached for his collar, gripping it with both hands. Then, raising herself on her toes, she slanted her mouth over his, hungry to discover if a second kiss could possibly compare with the first.

Quick as anything, Matt’s arms were around her waist, pulling her against him. He did it with such force that it drove the breath from her lungs. For one wild second, her eyes flew open. Matt quickly took charge of the kiss, seducing her with his lips, introducing her to his tongue and creating an ache in her that reached low into her belly. This was the kind of kiss that would make a woman want to lock the door.

When he released her, it was all Margaret could do to breathe again.

“I shocked you, didn’t I?” he said, brushing the hair from her face.

Still breathless, she couldn’t answer him.

“I figure you haven’t had much experience at this.”

His comment irritated her. He seemed to be saying her lack of sexual finesse was obvious.

“I … I should leave now,” she murmured, doing her best to sound mature and unaffected, even though her knees were shaking.

“Feel free to stop by any time,” he said, opening the truck door.

“By the same token,” she said, climbing inside, “feel free to shock me any time.”

He was still laughing when he closed the door and she started the engine and drove off. He was laughing and Margaret was smiling. This could be the start of something good, a voice inside her seemed to whisper.

The frantic hum of sewing machines filled the workshop at Sarah Urlacher’s quilt company. Three machines were in use nearly eight hours every day. Two girls cut pattern pieces while Sarah was busy with the phones. Orders continued to arrive and she was having trouble keeping up. Many nights she stayed late, dying the muslin, soaking the cloth in tea water and other natural concoctions made with lichen and berries and plants. She put in long hours, but she loved it with an intensity that was hard to explain. Quilting was her passion, and her love for it went into every quilt she sold.

No one was more amazed by the almost overnight success of her business than Sarah herself. It’d started out mainly as a hobby, something to occupy her time and employ her talents. Then she’d won first prize at the state fair and sold the quilt for an astonishing five hundred dollars. Soon other sales trickled in. Enough that she’d eventually realized she needed to expand, to move her business out of her father’s house. That was when she created Buffalo Valley Quilts.

Although it was a risk, a leap of faith, she’d rented space in one of the abandoned stores on Buffalo Valley’s main street. Having her own location with her business name painted on the window had brought her immense satisfaction—and pride. For the first time, she was doing something for herself. The success or failure of this venture rested squarely on her own shoulders. Everything else in her life had been controlled by circumstances, but this company was of her own making. And so was its success.

To be fair, she credited Lindsay Sinclair with those initial sales. Two years earlier, Lindsay had moved to Buffalo Valley and accepted a teaching job. With her, Lindsay had brought hope and vision to the community.

When Sarah started her company, Lindsay had contacted her uncle in Savannah about displaying the distinctive quilts in his upscale furniture store. The first had sold immediately, and everything since had been eagerly snapped up. Soon other retail outlets had approached her.

Already she had a handful of full-time employees and she could use more. But luring women into town to work for her was complicated. Farm wives were often needed at home, and with no day care available in town. A temporary solution was to hire them to do piecework out of their homes, but Sarah didn’t feel that gave her the same quality control.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the jangling of the bell above the door. Hassie Knight walked in. The pharmacist visited often, usually without a specific reason; Sarah guessed she just liked seeing all the activity.

“It does my heart good,” Hassie had told her once. “This town is coming back to life and it’s starting right here in this shop.” And then the older woman said something that brought a rush of pride to Sarah every time she thought about it. “I couldn’t be prouder of you if you were my own daughter.”

“Afternoon, Hassie,” Sarah greeted her.

“I brought you a chocolate soda,” the older woman said, handing her a tall metal container filled to the brim with ice cream and soda. “I’m betting you didn’t eat lunch again today.”

Sarah hadn’t; she’d been too busy.

“We can’t have you getting weak and fainting on us, now can we?”

There was little likelihood of that happening, but Sarah wasn’t about to argue. Hassie made the best sodas she’d tasted anywhere. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how famished she was.

“Thank you,” she said.

Hassie nodded, then left as abruptly as she’d come.

Sarah stood by the window and watched her. Since her own mother’s death, she’d considered Hassie both advisor and friend. In Sarah’s opinion, Hassie Knight had held this town together. If not for her, the community would have shriveled up and died the way so many other prairie towns had in the last twenty years.

Sarah’s gaze drifted toward her husband’s service station. It was difficult even now, three months after speaking their vows, to believe they were actually married. Unfortunately, the joy she felt was almost immediately squelched by regret at her daughter’s estrangement. For reasons no one fully understood, Calla disliked Dennis. When they’d announced their engagement, Calla had run away, choosing instead to live with her father in Minneapolis.

Sarah felt an oppressive sadness, a painful despair, whenever she thought about Calla. It was agonizing to see history repeat itself as she watched Calla make the same mistakes she had. Sarah felt so helpless. Nothing she’d said or done had brought Calla home. She shook off the memory; thinking about her daughter made it impossible to concentrate on work.

At five o’clock, her employees packed up and headed home. Sarah stayed behind, catching up on some long-overdue paperwork. An hour after she closed, Dennis joined her.

He walked into the back room, stood behind her, kissing her neck. “You ready to leave?”

He smelled of gasoline and grease, and spicy aftershave. Sarah closed her eyes and enjoyed the loving feel of his arms around her.

“I won’t be long. Did you go to the post office?”

His hesitation told her he had.

“There’s a letter from Calla,” he told her.

Sarah’s heart flew into her throat. She’d been so anxious to get a response about Thanksgiving.

“Open it later,” Dennis advised.

Sarah whirled around, unable to believe he’d say such a thing. “Why?” He knew she’d been waiting for days to hear from her daughter.

“What if she tells you she won’t come?” Dennis asked.

“Then she won’t be here.” Sarah’s flippant reply suggested it didn’t matter one way or the other. In reality, it meant everything. She’d only spoken to Calla a few times in the past five months. Despite her best efforts, every conversation had left her feeling guilty, upset and depressed. If only she could get Calla away from Willie’s influence, talk to her, reason all this out.

Thanksgiving would be perfect. Her father and her brother, Jeb, along with Maddy and the baby, would be joining them. Even Dennis’s parents were coming. A big family dinner, the kind they’d had when her mother was alive. Perhaps it was greedy of her, but Sarah wanted her daughter with them. Surrounded by family, Calla would surely feel the love everyone had for her, would surely realize how much they missed her. Realize how much Sarah needed her. Perhaps they’d even be able to break down the barriers and communicate as mother and daughter.

“Give me the letter,” she told him, and held out her hand.

“Sarah …”

“Dennis, please.”

His reluctance was obvious. She clutched the small manila envelope and was about to tear into it when she paused. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said, her voice shaking. All at once she was afraid of what she’d find inside.

“Open it,” Dennis said now. “You might as well. Get it over with.”

He was as ambivalent as she was. Sarah sighed deeply. Confronting her fear was more difficult than she’d expected. She opened the envelope, reached inside and pulled out half the airline ticket.

Sarah’s chest tightened and for a moment she could hardly breathe. Calla had torn the airline ticket in two and returned both halves.

“No letter?” Dennis asked, sounding as discouraged as she felt.

Sarah looked again and shook her head. “Why would she do something so cruel?” she asked.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Dennis said. “Let’s go home.”

“I don’t know why she hates me so much,” Sarah whispered. “If only she’d talk to me. If only …”




Four


Pastor Larry Dawson and his family had lived in fifteen different states in the past forty-three years, but he’d never thought of anywhere but Buffalo Valley as home. This was where he’d been born, where he’d gone to school, where he’d buried his mother and three years later, his father. From the day he left for the seminary, he’d planned to return to his childhood home—only, he hadn’t expected that to take over forty years. He was near retirement age now, and it made sense that he pastor a church in the very town where he’d spent his youth. His life was about to come full circle.

For a time, his return had looked doubtful. It seemed that despite all of Joshua McKenna’s and Hassie Knight’s efforts, Buffalo Valley was about to be snuffed out, like so many other small towns that dotted the Dakotas. Then, unexpectedly, the community had sprung back to life. Larry was thrilled and had managed to convince the church hierarchy to send him to Buffalo Valley.

The only church available belonged to the Catholics. It’d been closed for a number of years, ever since Father McGrath, hampered by age and failing health, had retired. Despite circumstances, the elderly priest had continued to stop by every few weeks to celebrate Mass. Recently, however, Father McGrath had entered a retirement home in Minnesota and the Bishop was eager to sell the property. The Methodist Church had bought it.

Soon after Larry had accepted the assignment, he’d found a nearby house to rent. The spare bedroom served as his office. The house was smaller than he would’ve liked, but it was fine for the time being. Fortunately his three daughters were grown and settled in careers and raising their own families. Unfortunately, they lived in three different states—Connecticut, Nebraska and Oregon.

Larry’s first official duty had been to officiate at the funeral of Bernard Clemens. He remembered the rancher, but it’d been years since they’d last spoken. The funeral, sad as it was, had been an opportunity to become acquainted with the people in town, those he’d once known and the younger people, whose families he often remembered. Larry had spent a good part of the day meeting and greeting his new neighbors.

In some ways, not much had changed in Buffalo Valley. When he’d left, there’d been a reserve toward strangers, a hesitancy. It remained in place to this day. The town … well, it looked better than he’d expected, but there was still much to be done. People were pleased with the most recent improvements and planning more. Then there was—

“Lunch is ready,” Joyce called from the kitchen, breaking into his musings.

He’d met Joyce while he was in the seminary. His wife had been raised in Boston, but over the years she’d come to love small-town life.

“What are your plans for the afternoon?” she asked as she sat across the table from him. She’d prepared one of his favorites, a chicken salad made with cold noodles and tossed with a soy vinaigrette, but today he had virtually no appetite.

“I thought I’d go over and visit Joshua.” A question about a couple he’d met at Bernard’s funeral had been bothering Larry and he could think of no one better to ask than his old friend. After barely touching his lunch, he wandered over to Joshua McKenna’s second-hand store. Joshua sold a little of everything. The sign in his window claimed there wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix, and Larry believed it.

“Good to see you,” Joshua called out when the bell above the door announced Larry’s arrival.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” Larry saw that Joshua was up to his elbows in grease, working on some kind of engine.

“Trust me, I welcome the interruption.” Joshua reached for a wadded-up rag, tucked in his back hip pocket. “This,” he said, gently patting the huge metal contraption, “is the engine to Gage Sinclair’s tractor. Dennis had it two weeks and couldn’t get it running. He threw up his hands and asked me to give it a try.”

Larry knew that low prices were killing many of the small farmers in the heartland. Farmers kept their equipment running as long as possible, and then eked out another twenty thousand miles.

“Did you hear I was over at Buffalo Bob’s?” Larry said as Joshua studied the engine. “Went there a couple of weeks ago, after I met them at Bernard’s wake.” Bob had talked him into trying his karaoke machine. Larry had no singing voice whatsoever, but bolstered by Merrily, he’d fallen victim. He was fairly confident they wouldn’t invite him to sing again.

“They have a little boy, don’t they?” Larry had noticed the child at the Clemens house but hadn’t seen him since.

“His name’s Axel.”

“Unusual name.”

Joshua nodded and continued to inspect the engine.

“Haven’t seen him around much,” Larry said.

“Seems to me Merrily said he’s got the chicken pox,” Joshua muttered.

“Poor little boy.”

“I’ve never seen a couple crazier about a kid,” Joshua said absentmindedly. He rubbed the side of his face, smearing a smudge of oil along his jaw.

“Bob seems to be a good father,” Larry commented.

“He is,” Joshua said. “Especially for being so new to it.”

“Axel isn’t his child?” Larry suspected as much, but then, he suspected a lot more.

“No. The boy belongs to Merrily,” he said, and reached inside the engine with a long-handled wrench. “No one realized she had a kid until she showed up with him one day.”

Larry’s suspicions mounted. When he’d moved into the house, there’d been a pile of junk mail stacked in the post office box, waiting for him once he’d submitted his change-of-address information. Never one to toss a piece of paper without first looking at it, he’d come across some flyers, notifications of several missing and abducted children. The name Axel, being unusual, had stuck in his mind. Within a week he’d met Bob and Merrily and their boy … Axel.

“Come to think of it, I never saw Merrily pregnant, either,” Joshua said. He twisted the wrench again and glanced up. “It used to be that Merrily would drift in and out of town. She’d stay with Buffalo Bob a few weeks, then disappear. He took her leaving real hard and never seemed to know when she’d be coming back.”

“You never saw her pregnant?” Larry repeated.

Joshua paused. “Funny, I never thought about it before, but no.”

“She didn’t bring the boy with her on earlier visits?”

Joshua shook his head. “No, not once.”

“You’re sure the boy is hers?”

His friend looked uncertain. “It’s clear he belongs to her,” he finally said. He held Larry’s eyes for an uncomfortably long moment. “If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

Larry wasn’t sure this was the time or place to voice his suspicions. For many, he was a newcomer to the community; he had no intention of wading into an explosive situation without being sure of himself.

“Did Sarah hear from Calla?” he asked instead, purposely changing the subject.

“She did.” Regret flashed across Joshua’s face. “Apparently Calla’s not coming.”

Larry had been afraid of that. “Is Sarah upset?”

“Real upset. Frankly, I don’t understand Calla. Makes me wonder what lies that no-good father of hers is feeding her.”

“You might never know.”

Joshua scratched his head, leaving more grease in his hair. “I told you how she ran away from his place, too, didn’t I?”

Larry nodded.

“Sarah and Dennis tried to talk sense into her, but she wouldn’t listen. Calla had a choice—either move back here to Buffalo Valley or return to her father. No one understood why she’d choose to live with Willie. I tell you, it’s got us all worried sick. No one would object if you mentioned it the next time you’re talking to God.”

“I’ll be glad to,” Larry offered. And while he was praying for Calla and her mother, he intended to ask God about the situation with Axel and his parents, too.

In the past few days, Sheryl had phoned no fewer than seven times. She was hounding Matt about Margaret, quizzing him about the relationship and what he was doing to promote it. Heaven help him if she ever found out about those kisses! At first, he’d assumed Sheryl’s talk about how he should marry Margaret for her ranch was nothing but that—talk. He’d been wrong. She was dead serious.

That anyone could so blatantly use another for such a mercenary purpose angered him. He should have realized from the beginning that Sheryl was trouble. The evidence was there. Sheryl had bragged about collecting on three frivolous lawsuits, as well as two minor car accidents and a workman’s compensation claim. Every single time, she’d walked away with money in her pocket. It was a way of life with her. He’d been unimpressed and somewhat contemptuous, but until now, her proclivity for making easy money hadn’t affected him. He refused to get involved.

Friday afternoon he drove to the truck stop, intending to tell her not to call him again. Her attitude toward Margaret Clemens irritated Matt. True, Sheryl was as pretty as a centerfold—and about as two-dimensional. Despite her lovely eyes, Margaret was plain, but unlike Sheryl she was both honest and kind. It surprised him that he felt so protective toward Margaret. One thing he knew for sure: he wasn’t going to let Sheryl talk him into using her.

“Sheryl around?” he asked Lee Ann, one of the other waitresses.

“She worked the early shift today,” Lee Ann told him. “But I know she’d like to see you.”

Matt nodded, and ordered a beer. He wasn’t in any hurry.

“Drop in at her house, why don’t you?” Lee Ann said as she delivered his Bud Light.

Matt didn’t reply. He would’ve preferred to see Sheryl here, where there were other people, rather than her place—where they’d be alone. She had her own special way of detaining him and he didn’t want to fall into that trap. Instead, he went to a local watering hole and drank two more beers. Fortified by alcohol and a strong sense of what was right, he changed his mind and went over to Sheryl’s rented house. He drove slowly and carefully, grateful for the lack of traffic—and always keeping an eye out for the sheriff. A drunk driving conviction was something he’d prefer to avoid.

“Where have you been?” Sheryl cried, her face lighting up when she opened her door. Without warning, she hurled herself into his arms, nearly knocking him off balance. “I’ve been missing you so much.”

Although she’d been squawking about marriage, Matt was well aware that there were other men in her life. He let her think he was deaf and blind because it suited his own purposes. He was with Sheryl on his terms, no matter how much she liked to think she was the one controlling him.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” she said.

“I’ve been busy.”

“I’m sure you have,” Sheryl said and led him into her cozy living room.

He sat down on the sofa and she poured them each a stiff drink, Scotch over ice, bringing the tumblers to the coffee table. He didn’t have time to reach for his glass before Sheryl crawled into his lap, straddling his legs.

“So you missed me, too,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and settling her sweet little bottom directly over his crotch.

There was no denying that he had.

“Tell me how it’s going with Margaret,” she said.

Matt had come to Sheryl’s to discuss Margaret, but not for the reason she assumed.

“You’d be a fool to let this opportunity slip through your fingers.” She picked up her drink, sipping from it. Her eyes met and held his. “She needs you. Can’t you see you’d be helping her?”

It was difficult to ignore his body’s natural response to the things Sheryl was doing. His head was clouded with booze and desire, but he couldn’t allow her to manipulate him. Bracing his hands against her shoulders, he spoke forcefully. “I’m here to tell you I have no intention of marrying Margaret or anyone else.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows arched with the question. “What about me?” She squirmed in his lap, effectively reminding him of all she had to offer … and her willingness to do so. Setting aside her drink, she cupped his face between her hands and directed his mouth to hers.

This was a woman who knew how to bring a man to a full state of arousal—fast. Without the beer and the whiskey, he might have been able to break off the kiss and hold his ground, but his resolve was already weakening.

“I didn’t say this was a hard-and-fast decision,” he whispered huskily, his eyes closed.

“Good answer.” She kissed him again, employing the full range of her talents.

By the time she’d finished kissing him, Matt was putty in her hands.

“I’ve missed you, cowboy,” she said, leading him to the bedroom. “More than you know.”

Matt doubted it, but he didn’t care, not at that moment. There seemed little excuse to deny himself what he wanted most, and just then it was Sheryl.

The following morning, Matt woke with a hell of a headache. His entire head throbbed. The whiskey bottle, now empty, stood on the bedside table; one of the glasses lay on the floor. The other glass held several cigarette butts, floating in half an inch of melted ice. The sight disgusted him. So did Sheryl, naked beside him. Most of all, he disgusted himself.

Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling, and silently cursed himself for being so damn weak. He’d never meant for this to happen. He’d never meant to become this involved with Sheryl. But a man had needs—needs Sheryl was always happy to satisfy. What they shared was a mutually pleasurable sexual relationship; that was the extent of it. The more he got to know her, the less he liked her. He worked long, hard hours on his ranch, but every now and then he needed to let loose, indulge himself. Sheryl was always obliging.

“You awake?” Sheryl asked, rolling over and clinging to his side. Her fingers plucked annoyingly at his nipples.

Matt brushed her hand away.

“What are you thinking about?”

He didn’t want to talk, and wished now that he’d showered and left before she woke.

“Nothing,” he muttered and tried to get up, but she’d wrapped her leg around his and held him tightly in place.

“We need to talk about Margaret.”

“She’s off-limits,” he said in no uncertain terms. His voice was cold, and loud enough to make his head pound even more. He tossed aside the sheet and despite her effort to hold him, Matt scurried out of bed and reached for his jeans.

“You like her, don’t you?” Sheryl asked, sitting up and clutching the sheet to her breasts.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel for Margaret.”

Sheryl was suspiciously silent. “You don’t have to marry her, if you don’t want to,” she said now. “It was just an idea.”

“A stupid one.”

Sheryl looked repentant. “All right, it was a stupid idea, but I was honestly thinking of her.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you were.”

“I was,” she cried, sounding hurt that he didn’t believe her. “This is a difficult time in Margaret’s life. She’s alone, and that’s scary. She needs someone like you.”

“I’m the last person she needs.” He fastened his denim shirt, closing the snaps with more force than necessary. When he got to the bottom, he realized he had one snap too many.

“Oh, Matt, don’t be in such a hurry to leave me,” Sheryl said, smiling softly. Scrambling off the bed, she stood nude before him and unfastened his shirt, then refastened it correctly.

“I have to go.”

“When will I see you again?” she pleaded. Pulling on her flimsy housecoat, she followed him to the front door.

“I don’t know.” That was what he told her, but he’d made his decision. He and Sheryl were finished. He didn’t like the way she schemed to bring down another woman. It bothered him that she was so willing to hurt and humiliate Margaret on the patently false pretext of helping her. Sheryl was a user, and he’d been a fool to get involved with her.

The first thing Matt did when he arrived back at his ranch was take a long hot shower. He scrubbed hard to eradicate the scent of Sheryl’s heavy perfume. By the time he stepped out of the shower, his skin was red and stung from the scouring.

The phone rang just as he was about to walk out the door. If it was Sheryl he’d tell her not to phone again. Their relationship was over. Finished. No more.

It wasn’t Sheryl, though.

“Margaret.” He couldn’t hide his surprise. Ready to vent his anger at Sheryl, he was caught off guard by his neighbor’s voice.

“I can call back if need be,” she said.

“This is as good a time as any,” he responded, wondering at the call. They’d been neighbors four years and she’d never phoned him before.

She waited a moment. “You doing anything Thanksgiving?”

The holiday was the following week. Matt wasn’t someone who received a lot of invitations. “No.”

“Do you want to come to my place for dinner?”

The truth of what Sheryl had said hit home. Without her father, Margaret was alone for the first time in her life. Sure, there were the housekeeper and the ranch hands, but they had their own families. Matt knew what it was to spend holidays alone. It wasn’t a good feeling. “You cooking the turkey?” he asked.

“I’d be willing to give it a try, if you’re willing to come.”

Matt thought about the other ranchers he knew. They all had families to share the holiday with or someplace to go and someone special to see. Matt didn’t, and apparently Margaret didn’t, either.

“I can bring the cranberries,” he offered.

“Does this mean you’ll come?” Her voice rose with unmistakable pleasure.

People generally didn’t get excited about cooking him a meal. “I guess it does.”

“I was serious about cooking the turkey, you know.”

“I’m serious, too,” he told her, grinning. He seemed to be doing a lot of that around Margaret. He’d come to know her a little, and every exposure left him feeling good, a sharp contrast to the way he’d been with Sheryl. “I’ll bring a bottle of wine and we can talk.”

“Talk?” This seemed to fluster her. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Do we have to decide that now?”

She hesitated, as though measuring her words. “We could discuss those kisses … that is, if you want?”

“All right,” he returned. It was easy to forget how direct Margaret could be.

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“That you were just as surprised as me.”

“At kissing you?” he asked.

“You liked it, didn’t you? That’s what threw you for a loop.”

He didn’t answer her, because he had enjoyed their kisses. And because she was absolutely correct: he’d been surprised.

“Am I right, Matt?”

He sighed and wondered if he dared admit it. Past experience had taught him it was better to hide a potentially dangerous fact.

“Why don’t we save this discussion for later?” he hedged.

“Okay,” she agreed, sounding eager.

The truth was, Matt was sure he’d disappoint Margaret Clemens. He understood why her father had talked to him. Hell, had their positions been reversed—had she been his daughter—he would have done the same thing.

Heath was finally going to tell his grandmother the news she’d been waiting to hear. Thanksgiving seemed the perfect time. During his youth, the two of them were often at odds. It had taken time and distance and more than one clash of wills for him to understand why. They were too much alike. She was a cantankerous old woman, but Heath loved her. He also respected her business acumen and valued her advice—even when it got a little too personal.

He left Rachel and Mark at his house in Grand Forks and drove to the retirement center where Lily Quantrill resided. As far as family went, Lily was all he had.

“I can’t understand why you insist on taking me out to eat,” she snapped the instant he arrived.

She was confined to a wheelchair now and he knew she hated it, but that was no reason to stay inside when the fresh air might do her some good.

“I thought you’d enjoy getting out for a few hours,” Heath told her.

She wheeled toward him and reached for her hat. Posed in front of a mirror, which had been hung deliberately low, she set it on her head and pinned it in place. “Where did you say we were going?”

“I didn’t,” he reminded her.

Lily paused in her task and glared up at him. “You know I don’t like surprises.”

“Yes, Grandma.”

“Then tell me where we’re headed.”

Heath sighed. “To eat Thanksgiving dinner.”

Her pinched lips told him she wasn’t pleased. He ignored her bad mood and laid the heavy winter coat across her lap. No need to put it on until he had her down on the first floor.

“It’s a wonder Grandpa ever got to first base with you,” he said as he wheeled her toward the elevator.

“Leave your grandfather out of this.”

“Yes, Grandma.”

“And don’t patronize me, young man. I won’t put up with it.”

Hiding the smile in his voice was impossible. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The elevator arrived and the doors glided smoothly open. Heath maneuvered her chair inside and pushed the button for the lobby.

She twisted around and stared up at him. “Do you seriously think some restaurant is going to fix a turkey the way I remember it?” she barked.

“Thanksgiving is about more than turkey and pumpkin pie.”

“Are you lecturing me, Heath Quantrill?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said again, his voice light with amusement.

“There was a day you wouldn’t dare laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing,” he assured her. The doors opened and he stationed her by the entrance while he went to the parking lot to bring the car around. When he returned, an attendant had helped her don her coat and wheeled her outside to meet him.

He didn’t realize how thin and frail she was until he lifted her into the passenger seat. Then the attendant folded her wheelchair and loaded it in the trunk.

“I can’t imagine why you wanted to take me out to dinner,” she muttered for at least the third time.

“Grandma,” he told her, “there are women all over town who’d jump at the chance to have dinner with me.”

“Well, I’m not one of them.”

He glanced over and saw her lips quiver in a half smile.

“Have you been seeing Kate lately?” she demanded.

“No.” Earlier in the year, Heath had gone out with a female bank executive a couple of times. The problem was, he’d already fallen in love with Rachel Fischer, but at that point her attitude had been completely and totally unreasonable.

“I’ve decided I don’t like her,” Lily informed him.

Heath chuckled. “Few women pass muster with you, do they?”

“Rachel did,” she snapped, “but you tried to rush her into bed. It’s no wonder the woman won’t have anything to do with you.” She glowered with disapproval. “What is it with you young people these days? You’d think God gave us Ten Suggestions instead of Ten Commandments.”

“Yes, Grandma.”

She grumbled something else he couldn’t hear. Then, for the first time, she noticed that he wasn’t driving in the direction of any restaurants. Instead, they were in a residential neighborhood.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded again. “And don’t give me that story about going to dinner. I want to know exactly where we’re headed.”

“You’ll know soon enough,” he promised.

Lily studied the landscape. “This is close to your parents’ house, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“You’re living there, if I remember correctly.”

“I am, and you do.”

She appeared to relax with that. “How nice. We’re having dinner at your home. I always did love that house.” She paused. “Haven’t been there since I got stuck in this blasted chair.”

“I love the house, too.” It was the reason he’d moved into it when he returned from Europe. His brother’s death had hit him hard and he felt the need to surround himself with what was familiar. The house had been in their family for thirty years. Even now, when it involved a long commute into Buffalo Valley three days a week, he’d chosen to live in the family home.

He pulled into the driveway and paused, watching Lily. She stared at the house and her sharp features softened.

Transferring her from car to wheelchair went smoothly. Earlier he’d rigged a platform to get her up the stairs.

When they reached the porch, the front door opened, and Rachel’s son, Mark, stood waiting. The scents of turkey and sage dressing and pumpkin pie were instantly recognizable. Rachel was one fine cook, and dinner promised to be everything he remembered from his childhood.

“Who are you?” Lily demanded of the boy.

Heath admired Mark for not flinching in the face of his grandmother’s brusque manner.

“Mark Fischer,” Mark returned politely.

“My son,” Rachel said, coming to stand behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

Lily turned to look at Heath. “What’s going on here?” she asked, but the question was hopeful, quite unlike her previous demands.




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