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

The Farmer Takes a Wife

(Exclusive short story)

Dear Friends,

I hope you’re enjoying your second visit to Buffalo Valley, North Dakota (or your first if you haven’t read Dakota Born yet). Dakota Home is among the most requested of my titles. This story is one of my favourites, too, and here it is… at last. The small town of Buffalo Valley really is the place of my heart, the home of my imagination.

My parents were both born and raised in the Dakotas, in towns much like this. As a child, I can remember making the long journey from Washington State in order to visit relatives, driving through the Badlands and stopping at Mount Rushmore to view the four presidents. I have fleeting memories of my mother’s parents, who died before I was six years old. Both of my grandfathers were farmers. I wrote the Dakota trilogy near the end of my parents’ lives. It was a tribute to them and to my German-speaking Russian grandparents, who arrived as immigrants around the turn of the twentieth century. I wanted to learn more about them and about the land they settled. What I discovered is that the people living and working the land now, a century later, aren’t so different from those pioneers. They’re hardworking, traditional and proud. A lot like my grandparents and parents. A lot like me.

PS I love to hear from readers! You can reach me through my website, www.debbiemacomber.com. Or write to me at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.

Dakota Home
Debbie Macomber

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Anna and Anton Adler

and

Helen and Florian Zimmerman

For their courage, dedication and love

Prologue

Four years earlier

Jeb McKenna recognized death, sensed the cold, dark shadow of its approach as he labored for each breath. The will to live was strong, stronger than he could have imagined. Waves of agony assaulted him, draining what little energy he had left. In an effort to conserve his strength, he gritted his teeth and swallowed the groans.

Trapped as he was, he twisted his face toward the sun, seeking its warmth. Stretching toward the light. He refused to stare into the advancing darkness that waited to claim him. But the more he struggled, the weaker he grew. Each attempt to free himself brought unrelenting pain. Barely conscious now, he accepted the futility of his effort and went still as the darkness crept toward him inch by inch.

“Jeb! Dear God in heaven. Hold on, hold on. I’ll get help….”

Jeb tried to open his eyes but had become too weak. An eternity passed before he felt his head gently lifted and cradled in caring arms.

“Help is on the way… they’ll be here soon. Soon.”

It was Dennis, he realized, Dennis in a panic, his voice shaking and raw. Jeb couldn’t see what his friend was doing, but felt the tightening pressure of a tourniquet as Dennis secured it around his thigh.

Jeb wanted to thank him, but it was too late and he knew it, even if his friend didn’t. He was grateful to Dennis; he didn’t want to die, not alone in the middle of a wheat field, lying in his own blood, feeling the land slowly, surely swallow him.

He didn’t want his father—or worse, his sister—to discover his body. At least now they would be spared that agony.

So many regrets, so many mistakes.

“Hold on,” Dennis said, “hold on.”

Jeb heard a piercing sound—a siren—followed by raised voices and shouted orders. Then the pain returned, pain so agonizing that he sought death, begged it to take him. Anything to end this inhuman suffering.

The next thing he heard was his sister’s sobbing. It was the first time he could remember hearing Sarah cry. She’d always been the strong one in the family. Jeb and his father had come to rely on her, especially since their mother’s death.

Jeb chanced opening his eyes and found himself in a darkened room. Sunlight peeked through the closed blinds in narrow slats. He noticed a powerful antiseptic smell, and when he moved his arm slightly, felt the tug of a line attached to his hand. An IV. He was obviously in the hospital, probably in Grand Forks.

Rolling his head to one side, he discovered Sarah sitting there, her face streaked with tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered when she saw that he was awake.

“I’m alive.” He had to hear himself say the words in order to know it was true.

“Son.”

His father stood on the other side of the bed. “We thought we’d lost you.” Joshua McKenna wasn’t an emotional man, but his eyes revealed anguish. A heartbeat later, he broke eye contact.

Jeb frowned, not understanding. He’d lived, so the worst was over; this wasn’t a time for tears or grief.

“What day is it?” Jeb asked, and the words scraped his dry throat. As if reading his thoughts, his sister offered him a sip of water, and he greedily took in the liquid until he’d had his fill.

His father looked at his watch. “Thursday afternoon. Four o’clock.”

Jeb had lost all perspective on time. The accident had happened earlier in the week. Must’ve been Monday, when Dennis was scheduled to deliver diesel for the farm equipment. Yes, because he remembered Dennis talking to him, helping him.

“You were unconscious for two days,” his sister explained.

“Two days,” he repeated. It didn’t seem possible.

“You’d lost a lot of blood,” Joshua added, his voice trembling.

Jeb glanced at Sarah and then his father. Why were they so upset? He was alive and damn glad of it.

“Tell us what happened?” Sarah asked softly. She held his hand between her own.

“The tractor stalled and I…” He hesitated when an awkward lump blocked his throat.

“You climbed down to check the engine?”

Jeb nodded. “I’d just started to look when the tractor lurched forward.” He couldn’t finish, couldn’t make himself relive the nightmare—yet he knew he could never escape it.

Luckily his reflexes had been fast enough for him to avoid getting run over, but he hadn’t been able to leap far enough to miss the sharp, churning blades of the field cultivator. They’d caught his leg, chewing away at flesh and sinew, grinding into bone. Then, without explanation, the tractor had stalled again, trapping his leg, holding him prisoner as he watched his blood fertilize the rich soil, darkening it to a deeper shade.

“Go on,” his father urged.

He tried, but no words came.

“No,” Sarah cried. “No more. It isn’t important. Jeb’s alive. That’s all that matters.”

The door opened and Dennis Urlacher peered inside.

“He’s awake,” Sarah announced, and Dennis walked slowly into the room.

He stood next to Sarah, his face tight with concern. “Good to have you back in the land of the living.”

Jeb swallowed hard, realizing that if Dennis hadn’t arrived when he did, he’d never have survived. “I owe you my life.”

Dennis was uncomfortable with attention, and rather than comment, he simply nodded. “I’m sorry about—”

Jeb watched Sarah reach for Dennis’s forearm and his friend stopped midsentence.

“He doesn’t know,” his father said.

“Know what?” Jeb asked, frowning at those gathered by his bedside.

Then suddenly he did know, should have realized the moment he’d heard his sister’s sobs and seen the agony in his father’s eyes.

That was when he started to scream. The scream began in the pit of his stomach and worked its way through him until he sounded like a man possessed. He screamed until he had no oxygen left in his lungs, until his shoulders shook and his breath was shallow and panting.

He already knew what no one had the courage to tell him.

One

It was the screaming that woke him.

Jeb bolted upright in bed and forced himself to look around the darkened room, to recognize familiar details. Four years had passed since the accident. Four years in which his mind refused to release even one small detail of that fateful afternoon.

Leaning against his headboard, he dragged in deep gulps of air until the shaking subsided. Invariably with the dream came the pain, the pain in his leg. The remembered agony of that summer’s day.

His mind refused to forget and so did his body. As he waited for his hammering pulse to return to normal, pains hot through his badly scarred thigh, cramping his calf muscle. Instinctively cringing, he stiffened until the discomfort passed.

Then he started to laugh. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Jeb reached for his prosthesis and strapped it onto the stump of his left leg. This was the joke: The pain Jeb experienced, the charley horse that knotted and twisted his muscles, was in a leg that had been amputated four years earlier.

He’d cheated death that day, but death had gained its own revenge. The doctors had a phrase for it. They called it phantom pain, and assured him that eventually it would pass. It was all part of his emotional adjustment to the loss of a limb. Or so they said, over and over, only Jeb had given up listening a long time ago.

After he’d dressed, he made his way into the kitchen, eager to get some caffeine into his system and dispel the lingering effects of the dream. Then he remembered he was out of coffee.

It didn’t take a genius to realize that Sarah had purposely forgotten coffee when she’d delivered his supplies. This was his sister’s less-than-subtle effort to make him go into town. It wouldn’t work. He wasn’t going to let her manipulate him—even if it meant roasting barley and brewing that.

Jeb slammed out the back door and headed for the barn, his limp more pronounced with his anger. His last trip into Buffalo Valley had been at Christmas, almost ten months earlier. Sarah knew how he felt about people staring at him, whispering behind his back as if he wasn’t supposed to know what they were talking about. He’d lost his leg, not his hearing or his intelligence. Their pity was as unwelcome as their curiosity.

Jeb hadn’t been particularly sociable before the accident and was less so now. Sarah knew that, too. She was also aware that his least favorite person in Buffalo Valley was Marta Hansen, the grocer’s wife. The old biddy treated him like a charity case, a poor, pathetic cripple—as if it was her duty, now that his mother was gone, to smother him with sympathy. Her condescending manner offended him and hurt his already wounded pride.

Jeb knew he made people uncomfortable. His loss reminded other farmers of their own vulnerability. With few exceptions, namely Dennis, the men he’d once considered friends felt awkward and uneasy around him. Even more now that he’d given up farming and taken up raising bison. For the past three and a half years he’d maintained a herd of fifty breeding animals. He’d learned mostly by trial and error, but felt he’d made considerable progress.

Genesis, his gelding, walked to the corral fence and stretched his head over the rail to remind Jeb he hadn’t been fed yet.

“I haven’t had my coffee,” he told the quarter horse, as if the animal could commiserate with him. He hardly ever rode anymore, but kept the horse for company.

He fed the gelding, then returned to the kitchen.

Cursing his sister and her obstinate ways, he wrote a grocery list—if he was going into town he’d make it worth his while—and hurried toward his pickup. The October wind felt almost hot in his face. A few minutes later, he drove out of the yard, sparing a glance for the bison grazing stolidly on either side. He moved the herd on a pasture rotation system. Later in the day he’d separate the weanlings and feeders from the main herd.

Buffalo ranching. He’d made the right decision. They were hardy animals, requiring less care than cattle did. The demand for their meat was growing and often exceeded supply. Business was good. Currently his females were worth more as breeding stock than meat: just last week, Jeb had sold one of his cows for a healthy five thousand dollars.

To his surprise, he enjoyed the fifty-minute drive to Buffalo Valley, although he rarely ventured into town these days. Usually he preferred to drive with no real destination, enjoying the solitude and the changing seasons and the feel of the road.

When he pulled into town, he was immediately struck by the changes the past ten months had brought to Buffalo Valley. Knight’s Pharmacy was and always had been the brightest spot on Main Street. Hassie Knight had been around as long as he could remember and served the world’s best old-fashioned ice-cream sodas. He’d loved that place as a kid and had considered it a special treat when his mother took him there on Saturday afternoons.

Like Marta Hansen, Hassie Knight had been a friend of his mother’s; she was also the one woman he knew, other than Sarah, who didn’t make him feel like a cripple.

3 OF A KIND, the town’s only hotel, bar and grill, was down the street from the pharmacy. Jeb had briefly met Buffalo Bob a couple of years earlier. He never did understand why a leather-clad, tattooed biker with a ponytail would settle in Buffalo Valley, but it wasn’t up to him to question. Bob had lasted longer than Jeb had thought he would. People seemed to like him, or so Calla, Jeb’s niece, had informed him.

The Pizza Parlor was new, but now that he thought about it, he remembered Sarah telling him Calla had started working there part-time. Good thing—the kid needed an outlet. She was fifteen and full of attitude. Jeb suspected that Dennis and his sister would have been married by now if it wasn’t for Calla.

Sarah’s quilting store came into view next and despite his irritation with her, he couldn’t squelch his sense of pride. Her quilts were exquisite, crafted from muslin colored with various natural dyes that Sarah derived from plants, berries and lichen. She managed to make something complex and beautiful out of this hand-dyed muslin, combining traditional methods with her own designs. The store was a testament to her talent and skill. She took justifiable pride in her work, displaying quilts in the front window of what had once been a florist shop. The Spring Bouquet had been closed for at least fifteen years. Folks didn’t buy a luxury like hothouse flowers when it was hard enough just getting food on the table. Nor had there been much to celebrate in Buffalo Valley for a long time.

Still, the town showed more life than it had in years. The old Buffalo Valley theater appeared to be in operation; he recalled his father saying something about a school play being held there last Christmas. He didn’t realize the theater had reopened permanently, but he supposed it made sense, since the place had been completely refurbished.

The theater wasn’t his only surprise. The outside of Hansen’s Grocery had recently been painted, as well. God knew it could use a face-lift. The sign was down and propped against the building; it was probably worn out, like so much else in town.

Not delaying the unpleasant task any longer, Jeb parked and headed toward the grocery, determined to be as cold and aloof as possible until Marta Hansen got the message. If past experience was anything to go by, that could take a while.

“Hello.”

He wasn’t two steps into the grocery when a friendly voice called out to greet him. His reply was more grunt than words. Without stopping, he reached for a cart and started down the first aisle.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the woman said, following him.

Jeb turned. He didn’t want to be rude, but he did want to get his point across. Leave me alone. He wasn’t interested in exchanging gossip, didn’t require assistance or company. He’d come for coffee and a few other groceries and that was it.

Confronting the woman with the friendly voice, Jeb got the shock of his life. She was young and blond and beautiful. Really beautiful. He couldn’t begin to imagine what had brought a beauty like this to a town like Buffalo Valley. The next thing he noticed was how tall she was—just a couple of inches shorter than his own six feet. Her blue eyes held kindness and her smile was warm.

“I’m Maddy Washburn,” she said, holding out her hand.

Jeb stared at it a second before he extended his own. “Jeb McKenna,” he said gruffly, certain he was making an ass of himself by gawking at her. Hell, he couldn’t seem to stop.

“So you’re Jeb,” she returned, sounding genuinely pleased to make his acquaintance. “I wondered when I’d have a chance to meet you. Sarah and Calla talk about you all the time.”

He nodded and turned back to his cart. It was adding up now, why his sister had “forgotten” to include coffee in his monthly supplies.

“I own Hansen’s Grocery,” she said.

“You do?” Afraid his staring was noticeable, he placed two large tins of ground coffee in his cart.

“What do you think of the new paint job?”

“Looks nice,” he said, and pointedly checked his list as he pushed his cart down the aisle. He added a ten-pound bag of sugar.

“I thought so, too.”

She was in front of him now, straightening rows of powdered creamer.

“Wait a minute. You bought the grocery?” The fact that she owned the store hadn’t really hit him earlier. “Why?” It made no sense that someone with so much obvious potential and such a great body—call him sexist, but it wasn’t like he could ignore the curves on this woman—would purchase a grocery in a back-country town on the Dakota plains.

She laughed. “Everyone asks me that.”

He’d bet they did.

“I flew out for Lindsay and Gage’s wedding,” she explained.

“Lindsay? Lindsay Snyder?” Jeb asked aloud, trying to remember where he’d heard the name. It didn’t take him long to make the connection. Lindsay was the schoolteacher Calla was so crazy about. The Southern gal who’d stepped in at the last moment a year earlier and saved the high school from being closed. He’d never met her, but she was all Calla had talked about for months. Apparently she was related to Anton and Gina Snyder, who were long-dead and buried, if memory served him right. Back in July, Lindsay had married Gage Sinclair, an area farmer and once a good friend. Needless to say, Jeb hadn’t attended the wedding.

“Lindsay and I’ve been best friends our entire lives and… well, I was looking for a change…”

“You’re from the South, too?”

Maddy nodded and laughed again. “Savannah, Georgia. Please don’t feel obliged to warn me about the winters. Everyone takes delight in telling me how dreadful conditions can get here.”

The Southern beauty didn’t have a clue, but she’d soon discover the truth of that on her own. Not being much of a talker, he wasn’t sure what to say next, so he pushed his cart forward.

“I’ve changed things around quite a bit,” she said as she strolled down the aisle at his side. “If you’d like some help with your list—”

“I don’t.” He knew he’d been curt, but that seemed the best way to say what needed to be said.

“Okay.” Apparently without taking offense, she left him, humming as she returned to the front of the store. She certainly appeared to be a good-natured sort of person. It made him wonder if she knew about his leg. The only telltale sign was his limp, which was more or less pronounced according to his mood. Some days it was hard to remember, and then on other days there was no forgetting. Days like this one, when he saw a woman as lovely as Maddy Washburn….

Once he’d collected everything he needed, Jeb pushed the cart to the check-out stand where Maddy stood, waiting for him. He set the groceries on the counter and she quickly rang them up. “I’m starting a delivery service,” she announced as she bagged his purchases, using several white plastic sacks. “Would you be interested in adding your name to the list? Of course, there’d be a small fee, but I’m sure many folks will find it cost-effective. I’d bill you once a month.”

He was interested. Having to rely on anyone, his sister included, was a thorn in his pride. However, he doubted Miss Scarlett O’Hara would be willing to drive that far out of town. “I live by Juniper Creek,” he told her.

“Is that close to the Clemens ranch?”

So she’d done her homework, after all. That impressed Jeb. “I’m not far from there.”

“Then I know where you are. You can either fax or e-mail your order. Or send it by post. As long as I have it by five on Wednesday for a Thursday-afternoon delivery.”

It sounded good, but Jeb still wasn’t sure this would work. “I don’t have to be at the house, do I?”

“Not at all,” she assured him. “If you’re comfortable leaving your door unlocked, I can put the perishables in the refrigerator for you. It’s all part of the service. Heavens, no, I wouldn’t expect you to be there to meet me.”

His nod was abrupt. “All right. Sign me up.”

She handed him the form, which he folded and stuck inside his shirt pocket. Taking his bags, he started to leave.

“It was nice to meet you, Jeb.”

“You, too,” he replied brusquely and headed out the door.

Once he’d deposited his groceries inside his truck, he walked over to Sarah’s store. No doubt his manipulating older sister would gloat when she saw him, but that was a small price to pay. This visit had a purpose: He didn’t like being coerced and he wanted to be sure she understood he wouldn’t allow it again. That aside, he wanted to tell her how nice the quilt shop looked and dammit all, he was proud of her. Not that he intended on letting her know it, at least not right away. He was in town, but he wasn’t happy about it, especially now that he realized why she’d worked so hard to get him there.

Sure enough, shock flashed in her eyes before she recovered enough to greet him with a wide, sassy smile. “Well, well, if it isn’t my reclusive brother. What brings you to Buffalo Valley?”

“As if you didn’t know,” he snapped.

“Lovely to see you, too,” she said sweetly, disregarding his irritation. “This is the first time you’ve been in my shop, isn’t it?”

He glanced around. Bolts of fabric lined two walls, and a large table dominated one end. Sewing machines, quilting frames and stacks of books were arranged throughout the room. She’d done a good job, making the place look both professional and comfortable.

“It was a big step for me, moving the business out of the house, but it’s gone well so far.”

“Don’t change the subject,” he countered, refusing to be distracted by her genuine joy at seeing him. “I know what you’re up to, and I’m here to tell you it isn’t going to work, so stop. Understand?”

“You met Maddy.” Sarah did nothing to disguise her glee. “Isn’t she wonderful?”

He ignored the question, although he had the feeling his sister was right about the other woman. “What in the world would convince someone from Savannah to buy a grocery store in North Dakota?” he asked instead.

“Well, for one thing, her friend is here. Lindsay.”

Calla might have been keen on Lindsay Snyder, but his sister had shown no such enthusiasm. In the beginning, Jeb had attributed it to the natural reserve, even suspicion, most folks in North Dakota felt toward newcomers. Even if Lindsay had roots in the community, that didn’t explain her interest in the town.

“I thought you didn’t care for the new schoolteacher.”

“I like her,” Sarah said.

“That’s not how it looked to me.” As far as he could tell, Sarah had never said anything against Lindsay Snyder, but she hadn’t gone out of her way to welcome her, either.

His sister sighed and shifted one fabric bolt, exchanging it with another. “First,” she said, her words stiff, “I never figured Lindsay would last the winter. But she did.”

“Apparently she intends on making a life here, since she married Gage Sinclair.”

“True.” Sarah avoided his eyes, which suggested that the subject made her uncomfortable. “I guess it has more to do with Calla than anything.”

“Calla?” Jeb didn’t know what to make of that. Then it occurred to him—his sister was jealous of the new teacher’s relationship with Calla. So often these days, Calla and Sarah were at each other’s throats. Calla didn’t like the fact that her mother was seeing Dennis Urlacher, and Sarah disapproved of Calla’s clothes and hair and typical teenage attitude. More than once, Jeb had wanted to suggest she “chill,” as Calla put it, but in the end, always decided not to get involved.

“She likes Lindsay.”

“And doesn’t like you,” Jeb added.

“Exactly.”

“But you don’t mind Lindsay now?”

Sarah sighed. “I don’t dislike her, if that’s what you mean. Actually, she’s very nice. Maddy, too.”

Naturally Sarah would find a way to turn the subject back to the new woman in town. All right, he’d admit to being curious.

“What did she do in Savannah?”

Sarah shrugged and brushed her long hair away from her shoulder. “I don’t know. Is it really important? I think she’s going to be a good addition to the town. The Hansens needed to retire. We both know what Marta’s like. It’s amazing they managed to hold on to the store as long as they did. Maddy’s working hard to bring back the business the Hansens lost. A lot of locals were going into Devils Lake to shop, you know.”

In other circumstances, Jeb might easily be taken in by Maddy’s charm and warmth himself. “That’s probably why she’s offering home delivery.”

“You signed up, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“Wonderful.” Sarah all but clapped her hands. “You’ll like Maddy. She’s—”

“I said I signed up to have her deliver my groceries, I didn’t say I was dating her,” Jeb broke in, frowning.

“But you should.”

Hard though he tried not to, Jeb snickered. He couldn’t think of one good reason someone as beautiful as Maddy Washburn would date a one-legged buffalo rancher. He wasn’t the only eligible man with eyes in his head, either. It wouldn’t be long before she had more men buzzing around her than she knew what to do with.

“It’s time you were married and started a family,” Sarah insisted, without amusement.

“Forget it, Sarah,” he warned, his voice low.

“Maddy’s perfect for you.”

“You can stop right now, because I refuse to have anything to do with this crazy idea of yours. Is that understood?”

She beamed him a huge smile. “Stop? Not on your life!”

Jeb realized arguing with her would result in a serious case of frustration. He knew only one person more stubborn than his sister, and that was him. “I said you can forget that idea and I meant it.” Without another word, he walked out the door, leaving it to slam in his wake.

Sarah watched her brother climb into the cab of his truck and barrel out of town, leaving a dusty trail behind him. It did her heart good to witness Jeb’s reaction to Maddy Washburn. As detached and disinterested as he tried to make himself, he hadn’t been able to conceal the effect Maddy had on him. Oh, yes, he was interested. Maddy had bowled him over the way she had everyone else. Half the eligible men in the county were in love with her already, and Sarah would gladly add one more man to that list.

The instant Sarah had met Maddy, she’d decided this was the woman for her stubborn, difficult brother. She’d been waiting a long time to find the right person for Jeb, and Maddy was it. She was friendly, accepting and kind. Her striking beauty was a detriment, though. It meant she was likely to attract a lot of male attention. Which, in fact, she had.

The stir caused by Maddy’s arrival was what had prompted Sarah’s underhanded method of forcing Jeb to drive into town. Had she known about Maddy’s delivery service, she would have signed him up immediately and saved herself the grief. Her plan might still backfire, but she could see from Jeb’s reaction that she’d done the right thing.

Although she wouldn’t have admitted it twelve months ago, Sarah had seen many positive changes in Buffalo Valley, thanks to Lindsay. Before she moved here, a lot of people had given up caring about the town. Caring about one another, too. Lindsay had brought an infusion of life to the dying town.

Never having taught school before, Lindsay had asked for help from the community and invited a number of business owners to speak to the class. Sarah’s father, Joshua McKenna, who also happened to be the town council president, had been the first to volunteer. Her father had shared his knowledge of state history and been gratified by the students’ eager reception. Other speakers had come away with a similar feeling. Within a few weeks, she’d seen the first evidence of a new and fragile pride in the beleaguered town.

For example, her father started sweeping the sidewalk outside his second-hand, fix-it shop every morning. Other business owners had followed. Jacob Hansen even bought new paint for the outside of the store, although the place didn’t get repainted until after he’d sold it to Maddy. Little by little, people began to show pride in the town again. It didn’t take Sarah long to realize it had all come about because of Lindsay.

At the end of the school year, when they heard that Lindsay had decided to return to Georgia, everyone in town was sick at heart. Even Sarah found herself wishing Lindsay would agree to stay on as teacher. As it turned out, Gage Sinclair was the one to convince her. Apparently he was less concerned about her teaching than making her part of his life. They were married in July, and Lindsay had asked her lifelong friend to stand up with her. Maddy Washburn had flown in for the wedding.

At the reception, Sarah had seen Maddy talking to the Hansens, their heads close together, and then, only a few days later, Jacob and Marta Hansen had jubilantly announced that they’d sold the grocery. Two weeks after that, Maddy had moved to Buffalo Valley.

Sarah had liked Maddy on sight and each time they talked, she liked her more. Soon a plan had begun to form in her mind—she would introduce Maddy to her brother, even if she had to use devious means to do it.

Now all Sarah had to worry about was Jeb. Her brother, at thirty, was still young… and damned attractive. The accident had changed him, until she barely recognized the man he’d become. He was quiet by nature, had always been undemonstrative, but the loss of his leg had caused him to draw deeper and deeper into himself. He hardly ever ventured into town or, for that matter, anywhere else. Sarah could think of no better way to draw him back into life than to introduce him to Maddy.

A burst of late-morning sunshine spilled into the shop and Sarah stood by the window and looked outside. This was going to be a hot day for October, she thought, as she ran her finger over the white lettering that read Buffalo Valley Quilts.

What she’d told Jeb was true. It had been a bold move to take her fledgling business out of her father’s home, although she and Calla continued to live with him. Eventually that would change, but she could only manage one small step at a time. As it was, she barely made enough money to survive financially. A business executive studying her accounts would have discouraged her from assuming the added expense of renting space, but in Sarah’s view, it was worth the risk.

Every day when she walked into her store, she experienced a sense of accomplishment. She’d had precious little success in her life and she was fiercely determined to see her quilting business succeed.

A loan from her father had jump-started her efforts and thus far, three months after opening her doors, she’d met every payment. Naturally she worked long hours, longer than she wanted, but for now that couldn’t be helped.

Reaching behind the rows of fabric, she flipped the switch that turned on the air conditioner. The first week of October and it was eighty degrees and climbing. She was teaching her quilting class that afternoon; the store would be an oven if she didn’t start the cooling process now.

Sarah had been pleasantly surprised when ten women enrolled in the class, many of them farm wives, looking for a creative outlet. Already she had a waiting list for the second session. Sharing her love of quilting, talking about its traditions and teaching its craft, gave her a sense of immense pride. For more than a hundred years, the women of the prairie had expressed art and creativity through their quilts, and Sarah believed she was part of that continuum.

The bell above the door chimed, and Dennis Urlacher walked into the shop, wearing grease-smeared coveralls printed with the gasoline company’s logo. He operated the one and only filling station in town and was a certified mechanic. Now that she worked outside the house, she saw more of him. That was the good news, and also the bad.

Her relationship with Dennis was a dead end for both of them.

“Was that Jeb’s truck I saw earlier?” he asked.

“Yeah.” In an effort to hide her smile, she headed into the back room, not wanting to confess what she’d done to lure Jeb into town. Dennis followed her, and she automatically poured him a mug of coffee, along with one for herself.

“He didn’t stay long,” Dennis commented.

“He never does.” Then, because she wanted to change the subject, she added, “It’s going to be warm today.”

“It already is.” He sipped from the mug, but his gaze remained focused on her.

“What did Jeb want?” It went without saying that her brother hadn’t come into town on a social call.

Sarah hesitated, wondering if she could say it and keep a straight face. “Coffee.”

“Coffee,” Dennis repeated slowly, and she could see a smile hovering.

“Apparently I forgot it when I brought out his supplies.”

“Sure you did,” Dennis murmured, then grew serious. “You wanted him to meet Maddy, right?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Jeb isn’t going to take kindly to you intruding in his life.”

“I know.”

His eyes held hers. “However, I didn’t stop by to talk about your brother.”

Sarah lowered the mug and forced herself to look away. She couldn’t let him continue to hold her gaze, because then he’d know how much she loved him, how hungry she was for his lovemaking. And how damned guilty that made her feel.

“I want you to have dinner with me—”

“I can’t,” she replied, not allowing him to finish.

Dennis scowled. “You could at least let me ask before you turn me down.”

“It isn’t a good idea. I—”

“Sarah,” he said, shaking his head in frustration. “I love you. I know your first marriage was a disaster, and I’m sorry, but I’m tired of having you put me off. If you think your father and Calla haven’t figured out that we’re lovers, you’re wrong. Everyone knows. The only question people ask is when you’re going to get smart and marry me.”

Sarah bit her lower lip. “I… can’t.”

“Okay, if you can’t go out to dinner tonight, when?”

She hesitated, stifling a groan. It wasn’t dinner she referred to but marriage. “Next week,” she murmured, defeated and angry with herself.

Turning, she walked back into her shop.

He sighed loudly, and she glanced in his direction. His jaw was tense, his eyes hard. “Kiss me,” he said.

“Dennis…”

“Kiss me,” he said again, more insistent this time. Apparently unwilling to wait, he reached for her, anchoring her against his chest. Before she had a chance to object, he ground his mouth over hers. The kiss spoke more of frustration than love, more of disappointment than hope. If she hadn’t known better, Sarah would have thought he’d already guessed the truth about her. That he’d long ago accepted she would never marry him and why. How could she, when she remained legally married to a husband who’d forsaken their wedding vows long before she had? Dennis and everyone else in Buffalo Valley assumed she was divorced. Sarah had gone along with the lie, wanting so desperately to believe it herself… and now that lie had taken on the form and substance of some malignant truth.

Two

Minutes for the October 24th meeting of the Buffalo Valley Town Council

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

The meeting was opened by council president Joshua McKenna with the Pledge of Allegiance to the American flag. Council members in attendance included Joshua McKenna, Dennis Urlacher, Heath Quantrill, Hassie Knight and Gage Sinclair. Robert Carr (also known as Buffalo Bob Carr), Maddy Washburn and Sarah Stern sat in as observers.

1. In the matter of old business, Joshua McKenna commended everyone for their hard work over the summer months. He declared the downtown clean-up program a great success and praised the council members’ efforts.

2. He also reviewed emergency procedures in case of fire. Jerome Spencer, head of the volunteer fire department, gave the council a readiness report and reviewed the emergency readiness situation in regard to tornadoes and blizzards. Joshua McKenna thanked him for his report and asked that it be distributed to everyone in the area.

3. Under the matter of new business, Joshua officially welcomed Maddy Washburn into the business community. Maddy thanked the council members for the invitation to sit in on the regular monthly meetings.

4. With the sale of the grocery and the departure of Mr. Hansen, one council position was left vacant. Hassie Knight nominated Buffalo Bob Carr to fill that position and Gage Sinclair seconded the motion. Buffalo Bob was voted in unanimously and is now an official member of the town council.

5. It was voted to grant funds to the high school so that the Christmas play can be held a second year. Lindsay Sinclair will address the council next month about the school’s needs.

6. Hassie Knight will place flags at the cemetery for Veterans’ Day.

7. Because of the luncheon being held to welcome both Maddy Washburn and Sarah Stern to the business community, the council meeting was cut short. The meeting adjourned at twelve-fifteen.

Respectfully submitted,

Hassie Knight

Dennis Urlacher studied the menu at Buffalo Bob’s far longer than necessary, seeing that he’d eaten there often enough to have memorized everything on it. The problem was, nothing sounded good.

“Beef stew’s the special tonight,” Buffalo Bob said, standing over him, pen and pad in hand.

Without much enthusiasm, Dennis returned the menu. “I’ll have that,” he muttered. It didn’t help that he’d eaten lunch there following the town council meeting that very afternoon. Of course the real reason for his indifference to Bob’s menu had nothing to do with the food.

“Hey, the stew’s not bad. I had a bowl of it myself.”

Dennis suspected Bob was right. To the community’s surprise, Buffalo Bob had turned out to be a halfway decent cook. Cook and everything else at the 3 OF A KIND. He’d rolled into Buffalo Valley on the back of a Harley-Davidson, with all his worldly possessions stuffed in his two leather saddlebags.

The name of the hotel, bar and grill was a source of amusement, since Buffalo Bob had won the place in a poker game. Considering that poker hand the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him, Robert Carr had named the business 3 OF A KIND. However, that wasn’t the only change he’d made when he took over from Dave Ertz, the previous owner. From then on, he’d insisted on calling himself Buffalo Bob.

Most folks didn’t know what to think when he first opened his doors. A lot of people feared Buffalo Valley would turn into a haven for “biker types,” the way Sturgis, South Dakota, did every summer.

The only other “biker type” who’d showed up was a woman named Merrily Benson. Dennis had the impression that Merrily hadn’t known Buffalo Bob until the day she’d arrived, but those two had taken to each other right away. Soon afterward, Merrily went to work for Bob as his one and only Buffalo Gal. In the years since, she’d come and gone a dozen times, leaving without notice and returning when least expected. Buffalo Bob’s moods swung with Merrily’s comings and goings.

Dennis might have felt sorry for Buffalo Bob if he wasn’t in the same situation himself. Whenever he thought he’d made progress with Sarah, something would happen to show him he was wasting his time. He’d been crazy about her from the age of seventeen. But the fact that she was five years older, married and with a kid, didn’t exactly make for a serious romance, especially since she was living in another state. Then one day she’d come home to Buffalo Valley, divorced, her daughter in tow.

Dennis had let her know his feelings, and she’d practically laughed at him. Sarah had claimed to be flattered by his attention and called him “sweet.”

Sweet? He practically burst out of his jeans every time he was near her and she called him sweet. He might have left Buffalo Valley, like so many of his friends had, if it hadn’t been for the way he felt about Sarah. The town was all but dead. He’d served Uncle Sam for a couple of years, then come back and bought out his father’s gas station with a small-business loan from the government. And he’d stood silently by as Sarah dealt with the painful issues brought on by her divorce.

He didn’t know how long it would have taken her to accept his love if not for Jeb’s accident. Dennis had made a routine stop to fill the gas pump at the farm and been the one to find Jeb trapped under the field cultivator. For two days, Dennis had stayed at the hospital with Sarah and her father while Jeb battled for his life. It was during this time that he and Sarah had first become lovers.

Dennis still remembered the jubilation he’d felt, the excitement, as clearly as if it had been yesterday. He’d been crazy about Sarah for years, steadfast in the hope that once she’d dealt with the disappointment of her marriage, she’d realize she loved him, too. During those weeks after her brother’s accident, they’d shared the most incredible intimacy of his life. If they weren’t in bed together, they were at the hospital with Jeb.

Dennis waited until Jeb was home and on the road to recovery before he asked Sarah to marry him, confident now that she no longer looked on him as a kid, “sweet” or otherwise.

Even now, four years later, his heart reeled at the force of her rejection. Without explanation, she’d simply said no. No. At first, he’d assumed it was a joke. She couldn’t possibly mean it. It didn’t make sense to him; they loved each other so intensely and yet she’d rejected his marriage proposal.

Following those two weeks of lovemaking—and his proposal—she’d abruptly cut him off. For no discernible reason, no reason he could understand. All she’d said was that it wouldn’t be a good idea for them to continue as lovers. The frustrations of the next three months had nearly been his undoing. If it hadn’t been for Jeb and their lifelong friendship, Dennis would have sold out and left Buffalo Valley right then and there. In retrospect, he almost wished he had.

Then, one day when he least expected it, Sarah had phoned and asked to see him. They’d met at Jeb’s farmhouse, while he was in Grand Forks undergoing physical therapy. Two minutes after Dennis arrived they were in bed together, so hungry for each other they barely took time to undress. Sarah had wept afterward, and said this wasn’t what she’d intended to happen. He’d kissed her and held her and asked her once more to marry him. Again, she’d rejected him, rhyming off a list of reasons. Not reasons, excuses. He countered every one—until Sarah mentioned her daughter. Calla was having trouble adjusting and needed all the love and attention Sarah could give her. She couldn’t, wouldn’t put her own wishes above those of her daughter. Dennis had no argument for that.

That afternoon set the pattern. Every few months Sarah would phone and without hesitation, he went to her. Nothing could have kept him away. She knew how he felt, knew he loved her and wanted to marry her. She also knew he was losing patience. All he needed now was to find the courage and the strength to cut his losses and leave Buffalo Valley.

“You’re looking down in the mouth,” Buffalo Bob said when he brought his meal. Steam rose from the hot bowl of stew and he recognized the scent of sage. It reminded him of home and family and Thanksgiving—reminded him that, once again, he’d spend these special days without the woman he loved.

“A man gets to recognize that look,” Buffalo Bob continued, lowering his voice. “Woman problems, right?” He didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Sarah?”

Dennis nodded, not wanting to talk about it. Their meeting that morning had left him feeling sick at heart. At the luncheon to welcome Maddy into the community, they’d avoided each other completely.

Dennis was thirty and wanted a wife and children. He’d given Sarah four years and she hadn’t changed her mind, and after all this time, it wasn’t likely she would.

“I want to get married,” he said. “She doesn’t.” Sarah’s excuses had disappeared but the real reason hadn’t changed. Calla. It was always Calla. The kid had been a real pain. Calla had gone out of her way to let Dennis know she didn’t want anything to do with him. She resented the fact that her mother was obviously interested in him.

“You talk to Calla much?” Bob asked.

He shook his head. The teenager lashed out at him every single time he made an effort. She clearly considered him a threat and refused to accept him, no matter what he said or did.

“Hmm.” Buffalo Bob rubbed the side of his face. “You find a way to smooth things over with Calla, and my guess is Sarah will marry you.”

As God was his witness, Dennis had tried. Tiredly, he pointed that out.

Instead of leaving Dennis to eat his meal in peace, Buffalo Bob swung a chair around and straddled it. “If that’s the case, then why aren’t you doing more? It took you quite a while to get Sarah’s attention, didn’t it? What makes you think it’s going to be any easier with her daughter?”

“I guess you’re right… She’s not a bad kid, you know,” Dennis muttered, thinking out loud.

“I do know,” Buffalo Bob said, grinning. “I’ve talked to her a few times.”

“You have?” This was news to Dennis.

“Yeah. Remember that Sweetheart Dance the high-school kids put on last February? Calla was in charge of selecting the music, and her and me got on real well.”

Buffalo Bob’s news didn’t encourage Dennis. He’d tried to win over Calla, but every attempt had been met with attitude, all of it bad. She made it plain she wanted nothing to do with him. The fact that she’d been friendly to Buffalo Bob cut deeper than Dennis wanted to analyze.

It was dark by the time he returned to his home on the outskirts of town. Still feeling discouraged, he pulled into the yard. Through the narrow beam of his headlights he thought he saw a shadowed figure standing beneath the willow tree in front. His heart raced with the hope that it might be Sarah, but she rarely came to the house, and never on her own.

He parked, then looked again and saw nothing. A figment of his imagination, he decided. He’d just stepped inside the house and flicked on the lights when he remembered he’d left his mail in the truck. He turned back, opening the door. To his amazement he discovered Sarah standing on the porch.

“Sarah.” Her whispered name caught in his throat.

She flattened her palm against the screen door, and he saw tears glistening in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching for her, urging her inside.

She shook her head and stepped back.

Dennis moved onto the porch with her.

Wiping her cheeks, she stood on the top step, as if ready to take flight. “I shouldn’t be here,” she murmured.

He longed to tell her this was where she belonged, where she’d always belonged, but realized that if he did, she would simply walk away. “What happened?” he asked, coming to stand at her side, not touching her.

She shook her head again. Then she raised her eyes and looked directly at him. She seemed about to make some statement, but when their eyes met, hers softened and she lowered her lashes and bit her lower lip.

“Don’t love me, Dennis. Please… don’t love me.”

He almost laughed. “Do you think I can stop?”

“Yes…”

He did laugh then, but quietly. “I’ve loved you for so long, I wouldn’t know how not to.” He’d hardly ever seen Sarah weep, and her tears unnerved him. He desperately wanted to comfort her, pull her into his arms and assure her he could fix whatever was wrong, but he knew she wouldn’t allow that.

Taking her hand, he wrapped his fingers around hers and drew her inside the house. At first she resisted, but then, sighing, she followed him. No sooner had they walked in than he turned her into his arms. They kissed, and as his mouth worked on hers, he unfastened the buttons of her blouse until he’d opened it enough to reveal her breasts.

“Dennis…” she objected, her voice trembling.

“Shh,” he whispered huskily.

She buried her face in his shoulder, her own hands busy unbuttoning his shirt. “I didn’t come here to make love.”

Once again, he knew better than to argue; he also understood, even if she didn’t, that making love was exactly why she’d come. Dennis didn’t care. He loved Sarah, and if all she sought was a few moments of shared passion, then fine. He’d swallow his pride and offer her a small part of his soul, as well as his body.

Thursday morning, as Maddy Washburn was sweeping the grocery store, she found a slip of paper that had apparently been someone’s shopping list. She stared at the sheet and decided that whoever had written it was probably a man. The handwriting was brusque, impatient, and the items listed were without detail or description.

Maddy grinned. A few months ago she hadn’t been sweeping floors; she’d been cleaning up the messes people made of their lives—and their children’s. As a social worker for the state of Georgia, she’d worked long, difficult hours until she’d finally reached a point of emotional collapse.

Meeting the Hansens at Lindsay and Gage’s wedding had felt like fate, and even if buying the grocery store was the biggest risk she’d taken in her life, it seemed right to her. Never mind that her mother considered the move too drastic, too outlandish.

The wedding was actually Maddy’s second visit to Buffalo Valley. A year earlier, she had accompanied Lindsay, who’d come to Buffalo Valley to see her grandparents’ house. Like her friend, Maddy had been drawn to the town and she liked to think her encouragement had contributed to Lindsay’s decision to accept the teaching job. Over the next twelve months, Lindsay had kept her updated in an exchange of newsy letters and e-mail messages. Long before she met them at the wedding, Maddy knew many of the townspeople from Lindsay’s descriptions and anecdotes.

The Hansens had been eager to sell and the terms they’d offered were ideal. She’d spent two weeks with them, learned the ins and outs of the business—ordering and stocking shelves, bookkeeping, inventory control. She absorbed as much as she could. Then, while the Hansens packed up nearly forty years of memories, Maddy unpacked and began her new life.

The community had welcomed her, and she’d noticed none of the reserve Lindsay had originally experienced. Just about everyone she’d met seemed friendly. Gradually she was putting faces to names. But she had to admit the most interesting person she’d come across in the past few weeks was Jeb McKenna. In fact, looking at the discarded grocery list, she realized it could very well have been his.

What an intriguing person Jeb McKenna had turned out to be. People called him a recluse, and the description seemed accurate, since Calla had informed her it’d been nearly ten months since his last visit to town. Others referred to Jeb as a loner, a man with a chip on his shoulder, a cripple. Maddy could see that he most likely was a loner, and he did maintain a certain emotional distance. She’d met people like him before and didn’t take offense, although she could understand how others might. But despite what she’d heard, she couldn’t think of Jeb as a cripple.

She recalled their brief meeting. He’d been cordial enough although he’d obviously been thrown by her presence. Maddy had no idea what to think of him—except that he wasn’t what she’d expected. Rumor had led her to believe he was a small, thin man, but quite the opposite was true. He was a good six feet, with a robust build and wide muscular shoulders. He resembled his sister somewhat, since they both had dark hair and deep-brown eyes. At first, Maddy and Jeb seemed capable only of staring at each other.

Oh, yes, finding her at the store had definitely unsettled him, and after he’d gone she’d found herself smiling at the haste with which he’d made his purchases and left. Almost as if he was afraid she might actually want to talk to him—or ask something of him that he was unwilling to give.

Crumpling the list, she was about to toss it in the waste-basket when she noticed the sharply slanted words. TOILET PAPER. Maddy didn’t recall ringing up any toilet paper for Jeb McKenna. Now, that was a household item no one should be without. Since she was making a trial run out toward Juniper Creek, anyway, she decided to stop by the ranch. She’d bring a package or two of a premium brand, and if Jeb was available, she’d ask him about it.

Earlier that month, Maddy had hired Larry Loomis to work for her part-time during the afternoons. The burly high-school senior was a bit awkward around her, but she was grateful for his help. He’d been around the store often enough for her to feel confident that he could assist customers and handle the cash register for three or four hours. Eventually he’d be stepping in for her when she made her Thursday rounds. In fact, he’d volunteered to deliver groceries himself, if she wanted. Maddy had refused, welcoming the opportunity to get to know people in the surrounding areas.

Jeb McKenna’s was one of the last houses on her route. The day was lovely, with just a hint of cooler weather to come. The huge sky was blue and cloudless. This was a true Indian summer, she thought, something she’d only read about before. Despite the warmth and mellow sunlight, Maddy sensed the weather was about to turn. It was October, after all and she could feel autumn in the wind, slight but constant. It shifted the long, browning grass on either side of the road as she drove by.

Autumn meant winter would make its appearance all too soon. So many people had happily described the horrors of endless days of blizzards and fierce cold, but it was difficult to think about the approach of winter on such a beautiful afternoon.

Maddy carefully checked the directions Jeb had given her to his ranch. She followed the road until she saw Highway Post Three, marking the miles. After a dip in the road, there was a road sign indicating a sharp curve ahead, with a speed limit of twenty-five miles per hour. His driveway was exactly two-tenths of a mile from that sign. His mailbox was on the opposite side of the road.

Maddy reached the entrance to his place and drove down a long dirt driveway, leaving a track of churned up dust behind her. She’d gone almost a mile before the house and barn came into view. The barn was massive and startlingly red against the blue, blue sky. To her disappointment, she didn’t see any bison in the pasture beyond, where large dusty wallows dotted the landscape.

She parked in the yard and noticed a calf in a small pen outside the barn. When she realized it was a buffalo calf, she gave a little cry of excitement and walked directly over to it.

“Well, hello there,” she said as she approached. His woolly coat was a brilliant golden red, with two nubby horns on his forehead. Did that mean this was a male? She decided it probably did.

The calf nervously raised his head as she advanced and she slowed her pace, not wanting to frighten him. His eyes were large, a dark liquid brown. Patiently she moved to the fence, talking softly as she eased her way forward, although she didn’t know how clearly the calf could see her, despite his beautiful eyes. From what she’d read, bison had notoriously bad sight, and she didn’t want to startle the poor creature.

It took a few minutes before the calf accepted her presence. Once he had, she slipped one hand between the slats of the fence and stroked his neck. She’d never been this close to a buffalo and was so intent on what she was doing that she didn’t hear Jeb’s truck until he’d entered the yard.

“Hello,” she said, straightening as he climbed out of the vehicle and walked toward her. He resembled a cowboy straight out of the Wild West, she thought admiringly, complete with a wide-brimmed hat. She shaded her eyes as she stared up at him.

He touched the brim of his hat in greeting and showed no surprise at seeing her.

“I was in the neighborhood,” she said, then laughed at how corny that sounded. “Actually, I was. I did a dry run on the delivery route and I wanted to be sure I knew where your ranch was.”

He nodded.

“I hope you don’t take this wrong, but when you were in the store last week, did you forget to buy toilet paper?”

His eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

Maddy was feeling more foolish by the minute. “I found a discarded list… I thought it might’ve been yours, and well, I remember packing what you bought and I didn’t think you’d purchased any toilet paper.”

“You mean to say you brought some with you?” he asked.

“I did.” She nodded for emphasis. “It isn’t the type of supply one wants to get low on.”

“True,” he agreed.

Maddy thought she saw a fleeting smile. But then—as if he was reluctant to feel amusement—he turned and headed toward the barn, limping as he went.

“Since I was coming by your place anyway, I thought I’d deliver it—the toilet paper, I mean. If that was your list,” she called out after him, thoroughly embarrassed now.

“It wasn’t,” he assured her.

Maddy watched the calf for a few more minutes. During that time, Jeb walked out of the barn and toward the house.

Gathering her nerve, she asked, “Do you mind if I stay awhile? With him?” She pointed at the calf.

“Suit yourself,” came his brusque response, as though he didn’t care one way or the other. He disappeared into the house.

Maddy didn’t need it spelled out—he didn’t welcome her company. Okay, fine. Standing on the bottom board of the fence, she rested her arms over the top and watched the calf. On such a glorious day, she was in no hurry to get back to the store. This was her first real break since she’d arrived.

Ten minutes later, just as she was about to climb off the fence, Jeb called from the house. “You interested in a cup of coffee?”

“Please,” she said, delighted by the invitation.

“How do you take it?” he asked, standing at the door.

“Sugar,” she said.

“Me, too.” He went back inside.

She walked toward the porch, and he met her there with a mug. He handed it to her and she sank down on the top step. He stood, leaning casually against the railing.

“How long have you raised buffalo?” she asked.

“Bison,” he corrected. “American bison. Even though almost everyone calls them buffalo.” He paused. “I started the herd about three and a half years ago.” He stared straight ahead, obviously uncomfortable making polite conversation.

“Why?” When he frowned, she quickly added, “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m sincere. What made you decide to raise bison instead of cattle?”

He snorted a laugh. “Well, the potential for buffalo is virtually untapped. The meat is better, higher in protein and lower in fat. People have been saying for a long time that buffalo tastes the way beef wished it did.”

“So you sell them for meat?”

“I don’t raise them as pets.”

“No… I suppose not.”

He went on to explain that to date, not a single person had ever had an allergic reaction to buffalo meat, including people who suffer from allergies to other red meat. No one was sure exactly why, but Jeb thought it was because buffalo were “organically” raised. They weren’t subjected to chemicals, hormones or growth drugs, or force-fed in high-density pens.

It was clear from the way he spoke that he knew and respected the buffalo and although it might have been fanciful, Maddy suspected he somehow identified with these animals, fighting their way back from extinction.

“Another thing,” he said. “The meat sells for up to three times the price of beef.” He continued, warming to his subject. “Buffalo are hardier, need less care and have a reproductive life that’s three to four times that of cattle.” Abruptly, he looked away. “I didn’t mean to start lecturing you,” he muttered. “Getting back to your original question, though, I do sell some of my animals for meat. But most of them are sold as breeding stock.” He gave her a quizzical glance. “This is way more than you wanted to know, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” she assured him, thanking him with a smile. “I find this fascinating.”

Not wanting to outstay her welcome, Maddy made a point of glancing at her watch. “I’d better leave,” she said, returning her empty mug as she got to her feet. “Thanks again for the information on buffalo.”

He ducked his head, acknowledging her words.

“I make my first official stop next Thursday if you’ll get me your list,” she told him.

“Fine.” He stayed where he was on the porch as she walked toward her parked car.

“Good seeing you again, Jeb,” she said, then climbed into her Bronco.

He might not have enjoyed himself, but Maddy had. He was a difficult sort of person, but that didn’t bother her. During the past few years, working in social services, she’d dealt with more than her share of unfriendly types. Jeb McKenna was Mr. Personality compared to some of them.

She started her engine and put the car in Reverse and was about to wave goodbye when she noticed he’d gone back inside.

It seemed odd to be having a date with her own husband, Joanie Wyatt mused as she nursed her two-month-old son. Jason Leon Wyatt had been born at the end of July in Fargo, when Joanie was separated from Brandon.

Shortly after Thanksgiving a year earlier, she’d left her husband, taking their two children with her. They’d reconciled some months afterward, but the time apart had taught them both some crucial lessons. Joanie had postponed telling Brandon about the pregnancy, and it was the news of the baby that had forced them to talk to each other again. Brandon had been with her when Jason was born, and for a while it looked as if everything was going to work out. Joanie didn’t want a divorce; she believed Brandon didn’t, either.

While they were separated, Joanie learned that she genuinely loved her husband, but at the same time she couldn’t go back to the farmhouse, fearing they’d slide into their old destructive patterns.

After Jason’s birth, they decided that Joanie and the kids would return to Buffalo Valley. Only they’d rent a house in town while Brandon continued to live on the farm. So far, things had fallen into place even better than they’d hoped. The house on Willow Street had belonged to an uncle of Brandon’s who’d left town when the equipment dealership closed. The house, like so many others, had sat empty for five years. He’d been willing to let them use it free of cost, preferring that someone live there rather than leave it empty any longer.

Sage and Stevie were pleased to be back in school with their friends. Despite several visits home, both had missed their father dreadfully during the months away. The situation now wasn’t ideal, but Joanie saw real hope for her marriage.

Calla Stern arrived five minutes before Brandon was due to pick up Joanie. With shrieks of delight, Sage and Stevie raced toward the teenager. This evening out was as much a treat for her children as it was for her. Jason, however, would travel with her and Brandon—first to dinner, then to the counseling session in Grand Forks. He was too young to be left with anyone else for more than an hour or so.

Brandon was right on time.

“Hi,” Joanie greeted him as he waited in the hallway, thinking it was a little silly to be this shy around the man who’d fathered her three children. After nine months apart, plus two months of counseling, they were still a bit awkward with each other. A bit unsure.

“Daddy!” Sage dashed in from the living room. The nine-year-old threw herself into her father’s arms.

Stevie followed. Brandon crouched down and hugged his older children. “You be good for Calla now, understand?”

Sage nodded.

“Do we have to?” Stevie asked, laughing at his own humor.

“Yes, you do,” Calla answered. “Otherwise you know what’ll happen.” She grabbed the boy and wrapped her arm around his neck, rubbing her knuckles over the top of his head. Stevie gave out a shriek of mock terror and promised, between giggles, to be a model child.

Joanie was smiling as Brandon led her to the truck parked at the curb. He hadn’t even started the engine when he asked, “How much longer are we going to have to see the counselor?”

“Are you complaining already?” she asked.

“Joanie, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she insisted. “We’ve only been to six sessions. I’ve found Dr. Geist to be very helpful, haven’t you?”

After a moment’s silence, he said, “Not particularly.”

This was news to Joanie. “Why not?”

He took even longer to answer this time, long enough to drive through town and turn onto the highway, heading east to Grand Forks. “Dr. Geist is a woman,” he muttered.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Joanie demanded, unable to hide her annoyance.

“Plenty,” he shouted, just as angry. “She thinks the same way you do. The only reason I agreed to these sessions was so we could get back together. I didn’t know I was going to be expected to sit there for an hour every week to have my ego demolished.”

Joanie felt shocked by what she was hearing. “No one’s bashing you.”

“Then tell me why I come out of these sessions feeling like a big pile of horse manure.” His hands were tight on the steering wheel. “You want me to tell the world I’m a terrible husband? I admitted it once already. Wasn’t that enough for you?”

“I never said you were a bad husband, and besides, that’s in the past. All I want to do is build a better future for us both.” The tension between them grew, and sensing it, the baby started to fuss and then cry. Nothing Joanie did could quiet him.

“Now look what you’ve done,” she snapped, and even as she said it, she realized how unfair she was being.

“When the baby cries, it’s my fault now, along with everything else.”

Joanie ignored him while she struggled to comfort their son. Jason rested in the car seat between them, but everything she tried seemed to irritate him. With the baby’s wailing, plus the horrible tension between her and Brandon, Joanie soon felt like crying herself.

“I want you and the kids back home,” Brandon said, shouting to be heard above the baby. “I’d feel a lot better about everything if you were living on the farm.”

“It’s too soon,” Joanie muttered.

“Are you planning to walk out on me again?”

“I didn’t walk out on you the first time.”

“The hell you didn’t.”

He was speeding now, letting his anger affect his driving.

“Slow down!” she yelled. “You’re driving too fast.”

“So you intend to tell me how to drive, too! You’re trying to manipulate me and tell me how to live my life. You don’t want a husband, you want a whipping boy.”

“That’s not true, dammit!” She couldn’t believe he was doing this. Only minutes earlier, she’d been looking forward to this evening out. This was their weekly date, their time away from the kids, their chance to rebuild the foundation of their marriage. Her hope was that through these sessions with the counselor, they would rediscover one another and rekindle the desire that had once been so strong between them.

Brandon slowed down, and neither of them said a word. The baby eventually fell into a restless sleep, but the air throbbed with tension for the remainder of the drive into Grand Forks.

As they arrived at the outskirts, Joanie said, “Let’s just skip dinner, okay? I’m not hungry.” She couldn’t possibly relax and enjoy a meal with her husband now.

“Fine,” he said, his voice expressionless. “Whatever.”

Dr. Geist ushered them into her office soon after they entered the clinic. “Hello, Joanie,” she said, then smiled at Brandon. “Welcome, Brandon.”

She was a tall woman, thin as a sapling, with short white hair. The doctor at the pregnancy clinic in Fargo had given Joanie Dr. Geist’s name, and after a short interview by phone, Joanie had felt optimistic about the three of them working together.

“How was your week?” Dr. Geist asked, after they’d all had a chance to sit down.

Brandon looked down at his hands, so Joanie answered. “Good.”

“Fine,” Brandon muttered with little interest.

“Did you complete the homework assignment I gave you?”

“I did,” Joanie said, and reached for the diaper bag where she’d stuffed the folded sheet. Dr. Geist had asked them each to compile a list of strengths and an equal number of weaknesses.

“Brandon?”

He shook his head.

“Did the dog eat it?” Dr. Geist asked, giving him a humorous excuse.

“No,” he said flatly, “I didn’t do it. As far as I was concerned, it was a complete waste of my time and energy. I want my wife and family back. I’m not here to learn about my flaws and what a rotten husband I am.”

“No one’s—”

Brandon didn’t allow Dr. Geist to finish. “I want my wife back,” he said angrily. “I’m tired of living in an empty house. It’s been nearly twelve months since we made love. Condemn me if you want—”

“In other words, you just want me for sex?” Joanie asked through gritted teeth.

“No,” Brandon shouted, then changed his mind. “I wouldn’t object to us sleeping together, Joanie. In my opinion, these counseling sessions are useless.” He glared at Dr. Geist. “You want us to make lists? Fine, I’ll give you one. Ten reasons my wife and children belong with me. That’s the only kind of list you’re going to get.”

“Joanie,” Dr. Geist said calmly. “Are you ready to sleep with your husband?”

“No,” she said immediately. She wanted to rekindle more than desire. Yet sex seemed all Brandon wanted from her.

As far as she could see, he wasn’t really trying, wasn’t willing to do even the basic assignments Dr. Geist had charted out for them. He wanted everything, but was willing to give nothing.

“I’ve sacrificed a lot in order to save this marriage,” Brandon announced. “Nothing makes Joanie happy. It isn’t enough that she brought me to my knees, now she wants to walk all over me.”

“That’s not true,” she said, flushed with anger. “I’ve sacrificed, too.”

The entire session ended up being a shouting match between them. Joanie felt sick to her stomach by the time the hour was over.

As verbal as they’d been during the session, neither said a word on the ride home. What remained unspoken seemed louder than any disagreement they’d ever had. When he pulled into Buffalo Valley, Brandon didn’t get out of the truck to help her with the baby or see her to the house.

Joanie paused at the curb, but knew she’d only do more damage if she said anything now. Brandon was determined to misread any comment she made. The second she’d stepped away from the truck, he drove off, tires squealing as he rounded the corner.

Swallowing the hurt, Joanie walked slowly toward the house, afraid it was too late for them both.

Three

Hassie Knight knew she was an old woman, but she’d never let that stand in her way. For years people had been telling her that someone her age was supposed to retire, to rest and take it easy. She’d always refused to listen. Until recently.

Last February she’d suffered a heart attack that had left her weak as a newborn. Too weak to undergo open-heart surgery like those fancy doctors wanted. When they’d first suggested she stay in the nursing home, Hassie was convinced it would’ve been better had she died. But life was full of surprises, and she’d actually enjoyed the rest and made several new friends.

Then, a couple of months later, her strength restored, she’d had the needed surgery; she’d even let her daughter fly in from Hawaii to fuss over her. By July, she was well enough to attend Gage Sinclair’s wedding to Lindsay Snyder.

It’d been the most memorable summer in more years than she wanted to count. She was back, working at the pharmacy part-time—or at least that was what she let everyone think. Only Leta knew she spent as many hours at the store as she always had.

Leta Betts was her best friend, and now, since Hassie’s heart attack, Leta was her employee, too. Although it was difficult to think of Leta in those terms. Seemed they had far too good a time for this to be considered work.

This particular Friday was a good example. Leta had spent the entire morning mounting a display of different-sized tissue boxes in the front of the store. That woman was more creative than Hassie had realized. Leta had carefully stacked the boxes into the shape of the Eiffel Tower. When she saw what her friend had done, Hassie laughed until her sides hurt. A replica of the Eiffel Tower in Buffalo Valley. My, it was enough to bring on the giggles every time she thought of it.

“I’m going to the post office,” Leta called.

“You already heard from Kevin this week,” Hassie reminded her, knowing her friend was hoping for a letter from her youngest son.

Leta looked a bit sheepish as she headed out the door. Kevin was attending art school in Chicago, on a full scholarship. It was the first time he’d been away from home, and poor Leta was having trouble letting the boy go. Hassie understood. Years earlier, she’d found herself constantly watching the mailbox when Vaughn had gone off to Vietnam. Her son had never been much of a writer, and she’d treasured every letter. Had them still, and reread them at least once a year, around Veterans Day.

Oh, yes, Hassie understood Leta’s apprehensions about her child. Kevin might be eighteen and legally an adult, but he would always remain Leta’s child, the way Vaughn would remain hers.

“I got a letter,” Leta shouted triumphantly five minutes later.

“What’s he say?” Hassie asked, as eager to hear the news as his own mother.

“Give me a minute and I’ll let you know,” Leta said, tearing into the envelope. “Look,” she cried, waving a sheet of paper at Hassie. “He drew me a picture of his dorm and his roommate.” She cupped her hand over her mouth to hide her giggles.

She handed the sheet to Hassie, who took one look and burst into peals of laughter. Kevin had drawn a room, no bigger than a closet, with his own things stacked in a neat, orderly fashion. His roommate, who resembled reggae singer Bob Marley, had his clothes hanging from the light fixtures and spilling out over the windowsill.

“Oh, dear, I’d say poor Kevin is in for an education,” Hassie said, returning the picture.

The door opened and Lindsay walked in, then came to a full stop in front of the tissue display and slowly shook her head.

“Wait until you see what she’s going to make next—London Bridge constructed out of Pepto-Bismol bottles,” Hassie told her.

Lindsay laughed outright at that. “I want to keep a photographic record of these works of art. I’ll come by with my camera.”

“Speaking of art, Kevin sent us a drawing of his roommate,” Leta said, reaching for the envelope tucked inside her apron pocket.

Lindsay unfolded the letter and started laughing again.

Hassie felt downright encouraged by the way Leta and Lindsay loved each other. She was proud of Leta for opening her heart to her new daughter-in-law. Not once since Leta had moved off the farm and into town had she complained, although it couldn’t have been easy for her. She was a widow twice over, and during the course of the summer, she’d lost both her sons—one to college and the other to marriage—as well as her home.

If anything, Leta appeared to take real pride in getting Lindsay and Gage together, a pride Hassie shared. She was firmly convinced that if it hadn’t been for their efforts in guiding the young couple, Gage and Lindsay might never have figured out what Hassie and Leta had seen right off—they were meant to be together.

Hassie wouldn’t want to take bets on who was the more stubborn, Lindsay or Gage. They seemed equally matched in that regard, as in so many others. At their wedding, Hassie had shed a few tears. Leta, too.

“Kevin seems happy,” Lindsay said, studying the drawing.

Lindsay had been responsible for finding Kevin the opportunity to attend art school. His going had been the source of a major disagreement between her and Gage.

It had been a brave thing for Kevin to stand up to his family and tell themhe didn’t want to be a farmer, he wanted to study art. Technically, the land Gage farmed belonged to his half brother, but Kevin had no interest in living the life of a farmer. It was Gage who loved the land, who’d worked it and paid off the debts incurred by Kevin’s well-meaning but financially irresponsible father. In Kevin’s view, the land didn’t belong to him; he considered it more burden than blessing, and so he’d deeded the family farm to Gage. His older half brother had earned it. Then, with a wisdom and maturity beyond his years, he’d announced that he had his own path to follow. Hassie had rarely seen more courage in a boy of that age.

“I think he’s happier now than at any time in his life,” Leta said, and her eyes shone with pride and perhaps the sheen of tears. “Thank you, Lindsay.” Leta hugged her and Hassie reached for her kerchief, blowing hard.

“You ready for one of those home pregnancy test kits yet?” Hassie asked.

Lindsay blushed.

“Hassie,” Leta chastised. “They’re newlyweds.”

“So? Doesn’t mean Lindsay can’t get pregnant now if that’s what she wants.”

“I don’t need any home pregnancy kits,” Lindsay told her, and then winked. “At least not yet.”

Saturday morning, with her weekly shopping list in hand, Lindsay left her husband winterizing the farm equipment and drove to town. As she neared Buffalo Valley, she reflected on her own happiness, the deep contentment she felt these days. She’d made the transition to married life with hardly a pause. At thirty, she’d been ready for marriage and prepared, mentally and emotionally, to start her family.

Only yesterday, Hassie had teased her about being a newlywed. Marrying Gage was the best thing she’d ever done. Never in her life had she been this certain about any decision. A hundred times a day she sent up a prayer of thanks that she’d moved to Buffalo Valley and met Gage—and that she hadn’t made the mistake of marrying a vain, self-centered man like Monte Turner. It astonished her now that she’d been so blind about Monte all those years. Gage was everything she could have wanted in a husband, and their being together was a gift both refused to take for granted. She could hardly believe that her heart could hold this much love.

The fact that Maddy had purchased Hansen’s Grocery was a bonus that brought Lindsay a twinge of joy every time she thought about it. They’d been best friends their whole lives, sharing more than some sisters did. When she’d first moved to Buffalo Valley, Lindsay had poured out her heart in lengthy, emotion-filled letters to Maddy. And they spoke frequently—her long-distance phone bills last winter were as high as the heating bills.

Maddy, who’d always been intuitive, had realized the potential in Buffalo Valley long before Lindsay had seen it herself. Without her friend’s encouragement, Lindsay didn’t know if she would ever have found the courage to leave Savannah and her dead-end relationship with Monte.

Then, right after the wedding, everyone had been stunned when Maddy announced she was buying the grocery store and moving to Buffalo Valley, too. Everyone but Lindsay. From the moment Maddy arrived for the wedding, Lindsay sensed that her friend had come to stay.

When she returned to Savannah to pack her things, Maddy’s mother had tried desperately to change her daughter’s mind. Lindsay had said nothing one way or the other; the decision rested entirely with Maddy. She’d known for a long time, though, that her friend was unhappy with her job. Unhappy, overworked and underpaid. Maddy needed an out, and Buffalo Valley needed her.

Now she was here, and pretty soon Maddy would be an integral part of the community. The people of Buffalo Valley would quickly see what a prize they had in Maddy Washburn, and they’d come to value her generosity, her sincerity and humor the same way Lindsay did.

When Lindsay had arrived a year earlier, Buffalo Valley was fast taking on the appearance of a ghost town. Only a handful of businesses had survived the farm crisis and those that had were hanging on by a thread. Joy had left the community; so had self-respect—and hope.

She’d had her students write about their families’ histories in the area, and that was when she’d seen the first spark of rekindled pride. Those papers had given Lindsay an idea. With the support of the town council and the help of nearly everyone in Buffalo County, the high-schoolers had written a play entitled Dakota Christmas. It was no small undertaking, but together the entire community had renovated the town’s old movie house for the performance.

People came from as far away as the Canadian border to see the play. Almost every family saw a part of its own history re-enacted. The play had been the highlight of that first year of teaching for Lindsay. In the months that followed, with the theater cleaned and repaired, the owners had decided to keep it open. Second-run—and occasionally brand-new—movies were regularly shown these days, to the delight of everyone in town and beyond.

That old theater was the only source of entertainment, other than taverns, in a fifty-mile radius, and it’d brought people back into Buffalo Valley once again. Buffalo Bob’s 3 OF A KIND was thriving, thanks in part to the karaoke machine. Sarah Stern had recently rented a store for her quilting shop and was offering classes to local farm wives. Rachel Fischer’s weekend pizza parlor was open five days a week now. It was encouraging to see the town slowly return to life, and Lindsay experienced a sense of elation as she parked the truck in front of the grocery.

Maddy was in the front, manning one of the two registers, when Lindsay walked in. Busy with customers, her friend took a quick moment to acknowledge her with a cheerful wave.

Lindsay reached for a cart and headed down the aisle, amazed once again at the difference in the store. Not that Maddy stocked anything the Hansens hadn’t. The change was in the atmosphere, in the impression people got when they stepped inside.

The Hansens had lost heart. That had been apparent outwardly, in the carelessly arranged shelves, the lack of any interesting displays, the sometimes dirty floors. It was also revealed in the attitude the Hansens brought to their work. Whenever Lindsay had come into the store, she’d been subjected to a litany of everything that was wrong with the community, the country and the world in general. After five minutes of listening to doom and gloom, she always left feeling depressed and annoyed.

Maddy was lighthearted and friendly, and most people were drawn to her. Her beauty was undeniable, but she’d never bothered much with makeup or worried about style, which she thought of as trivial concerns. Once, in college, Lindsay had accused her of downplaying her attractiveness and Maddy had vehemently denied it. Not until years later did Lindsay really understand or appreciate her friend’s uniqueness. Beauty, natural or otherwise, meant little to Maddy. She accepted people exactly as they were—herself included.

Lindsay hoped fervently that Maddy would find the same happiness she had. There’d never been a long-standing relationship for Maddy. Once she’d started her job as a social worker for the state, her clients had dominated her time and her life. There simply hadn’t been room for a man.

Now that Maddy was living in Buffalo Valley, Lindsay felt confident all of that was about to change. The shortage of available women was at a record high. Apparently, Dave Stafford, a local farmer, had recently advertised for a wife—and found one. As soon as word got out about Maddy, she was sure to have more opportunities to date than at any time since she’d turned sixteen.

Lindsay glanced at her list. Almost finished. She grabbed a box of oatmeal and then a package of dog treats from the next aisle and steered her cart toward the check-out counter where Maddy waited. “I see you’ve been busy,” she told her friend. “That’s great!”

Maddy nodded. “This week has been my best so far.”

Lindsay knew Maddy was determined to make this business a success. She’d invested everything she’d managed to save, plus a small inheritance she’d gotten from her grandfather’s estate. This store, and its success or failure, was her future.

Setting her groceries on the counter, Lindsay looked around and noticed Bert Loomis stacking canned tomato soup on a shelf. The Loomis family farmed 1200 acres near Bellmont. The twins, Larry and Bert, were the youngest of six boys. Neither one showed much inclination toward farming, nor any great intelligence, at least of the academic kind. Lindsay knew the expenses involved in sending them to college made it out of the question. Like so many others, they had few options after graduation—either look for work in the big cities or join the military. Both Larry and Bert were notorious troublemakers, and it was just like Maddy to take them under her wing, Lindsay reflected.

“I thought you hired Larry?” Yet Bert was the Loomis twin busy stocking the shelf.

“I did, but it seems I got two boys for the price of one.”

“They’re a real handful,” Lindsay warned, and she should know. She remembered her first day of teaching and the trouble those two had given her with their fighting and constant bickering. Not only that, they couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes. She marveled that Maddy had the courage to hire one of them, let alone both.

“They’ve been a real blessing to me,” Maddy insisted.

Lindsay didn’t know what it was about Maddy, but she seemed to bring out the best in other people. That was her gift. “I have an idea I want to talk to you about when you’ve got a chance,” Lindsay said, once she’d finished writing out her check. “How about lunch tomorrow? Come over to our place, okay? It’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to sit down and chat.”

“That’d be wonderful.” Maddy waved at Rachel Fischer, owner of The Pizza Parlor, as she came into the store.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lindsay said, mulling over her idea. This was going to work out so well, discussing ideas with Maddy and not having to pay long-distance telephone rates to do it!

An afternoon with Lindsay was exactly what she needed, Maddy thought as she drove out of Buffalo Valley early Sunday afternoon. They’d barely had time to do more than greet each other in passing since Maddy had moved to town.

So much had happened during the first few weeks. As soon as the store was officially hers, Maddy had painted the outside and spruced up the grocery’s interior—scrubbing and waxing floors, dusting shelves, washing windows. She would’ve liked to change the sign out front, but that meant laying down money needed elsewhere. Working seven days a week, although the grocery was closed on Sundays, Maddy was definitely ready for a break.

Lindsay was waiting for her on the porch steps, with Mutt and Jeff, her dogs. “I made us a Cobb salad,” she said as Maddy climbed out of her Bronco. The dogs, who knew Maddy well, greeted her with ecstatic barking and wagging tails.

“Hi, guys!” Maddy crouched to give them both some enthusiastic ear-scratching and tummy-rubbing, then got up to throw her arms around Lindsay in a hug. “Hi, you.”

“Come on inside.” Lindsay held open the door and Maddie entered the house as the dogs dashed past her. Lindsay grinned. “They never change, do they? Now sit down before the salad gets warm and the bread gets cold.”

Maddy had never seen Lindsay happier and wished she could find that kind of contentment, too.

“You made the bread yourself?” Maddy asked. “I’m impressed.”

“I’ll have you know I’m turning into a halfway decent cook. And baker. I bought the butter from you, though.”

Maddy bowed in mock acknowledgement. “Hey, where’s Gage?”

“He’s off visiting Brandon Wyatt,” Lindsay answered. “He said he didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of a female gabfest.”

Maddy pretended to be insulted, but she didn’t really mind. And even if she had felt slighted, she could forgive Gage just about anything. She’d liked him from the moment they’d met, and couldn’t be happier that Lindsay had married such a good man. Gage was hardworking, decent, honorable. And Maddy had recognised the attraction between them immediately. She’d had a feeling that first afternoon that this was only the beginning. And she’d been right.

“Okay,” Maddy said once they were sitting at the table over their salads and warm, crusty slices of sourdough bread. “What’s your idea?”

“It has to do with Sarah Stern.” Lindsay clasped her hands in front of her and her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “I was thinking about having my uncle Mike display her quilts in his furniture store.”

“That’s a stroke of genius!”

“Thank you, thank you.” Lindsay nodded regally and stabbed a slice of avocado with her fork. “You and I both know how beautiful Sarah’s quilts are, but Uncle Mike doesn’t. Not yet, anyway. He’s particular about the store and the displays. Mom showed him the gifts I brought last Christmas—the quilted table runners—and he liked them, but he hasn’t seen an actual full-size quilt yet.”

Lindsay’s uncle owned one of the more upscale furniture stores in Savannah. Anything purchased at Mike’s was quality. He wouldn’t be an easy sell.

“I hope this works out,” Lindsay added, frowning slightly. “I don’t know why, but Sarah and I have never really connected. A number of times last year, I could have used a friend like Sarah, but she rebuffed every effort I made.”

“She’s been nothing but kind to me,” Maddy countered.

“Of course she has. She likes you. It’s me she has a problem with.”

“She’s warming up, though, don’t you think?”

Lindsay reached for a slice of bread and slathered it with butter. “Somewhat,” she agreed. “The thing is, I genuinely like Sarah, and I think she’s very talented. She gave Gage and me a quilt as a wedding gift and it’s exquisite. I’d like to help her, if I can, and in the process get to know her better.” Lindsay hesitated. “In knowing Sarah, perhaps I’ll understand Calla better, too. I worry about that kid.”

“Calla?”

Lindsay propped her elbows on the table. “You know—teenage angst.”

Maddy studied her friend and admired her for the caring, generous teacher she’d become this past year.

They chatted about the town and Lindsay’s growing relationship with Angela Kirkpatrick, her long-lost aunt. The two had become close and Maddy knew it thrilled Lindsay to have family nearby. They communicated mostly through e-mail, but had also visited each other several times. Angela had met Lindsay’s parents at the wedding, and they kept in touch, as well.

After a while, Lindsay’s eyes grew serious. “Are you going to tell me what happened in Savannah?”

Maddy knew that eventually Lindsay would get around to asking her. As an idealist, she’d gone into social work, believing she could make a difference, and she had. What she hadn’t expected was the toll it would take on her own life. In the eight years she’d worked for the state, Maddy felt she’d given away so much of herself, there was nothing left. So many people needed help. More than she had to give. Unfortunately, she’d learned that the hard way.

Early in the year she’d faced the biggest crisis of her career with thirteen-year-old Julie Pounder—and everything had gone wrong. Julie was dead, and while Maddy knew she wasn’t to blame, she felt responsible. She hadn’t been able to deal with the aftermath of the girl’s death; she still couldn’t. Every time she thought about it, she wept, and didn’t want to spoil this afternoon with tears.

“I can’t talk about it yet,” Maddy said, not wanting to elaborate further. “I will in a month or two.”

“All right,” Lindsay murmured and affectionately squeezed Maddy’s hand. “We’ll change the subject.”

Maddy was grateful. “Tell me what you know about Jeb McKenna.”

“Jeb,” Lindsay repeated slowly. “You like him?”

“I don’t know him.” She could see that Lindsay was already reading something into her curiosity. It was her own fault for asking, but the strong, silent types had always intrigued her.

“You’ve met him and I haven’t,” Lindsay reminded her.

“True.”

“Calla’s mentioned her uncle quite a few times and I know about him, but I’m afraid I can’t be any help.” She met Maddy’s eyes. “You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”

Maddy hesitated, not sure how to answer. Yes, she was attracted; in fact, Jeb fascinated her. She suspected that behind his gruff exterior lay a kind, gentle man, one she’d like to know.

“I guess I am interested,” she admitted after a lengthy pause.

“Oh, Maddy…” Lindsay sighed. “I’m afraid Jeb McKenna will only break your heart.”

Sunday evenings were traditionally the slowest of the week for Buffalo Bob. Most folks tended to stay home. He’d thought about closing the restaurant on Sundays, but hell, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if it wasn’t for cooking and serving up a beer or two. Besides, he had to keep busy or he’d start thinking about Merrily again.

She’d left, gone five weeks already. He’d never understood what made her come and go the way she did. Things would be just fine for a while and then suddenly, without explanation, she’d disappear.

Usually she didn’t even bother to write him a note. Other times she’d leave something on the pillow. Something he knew she treasured. He guessed it was her way of telling him she’d be back.

Nothing seemed right without Merrily. A thousand times over the past three years he’d told himself he was better off without her. But he couldn’t make himself believe it because deep down he knew it wasn’t true.

He rode a Harley and wore his hair in a ponytail, and most folks assumed he’d belonged to a badass motorcycle gang. The truth was, he’d never been involved in gang activities. Oh, he dressed the part, purposely gave people that impression, even dropped hints about the lifestyle—but it wasn’t true. None of it. He’d been a loner most of his life. He liked to suggest he’d been places and done things he could never talk about, but he hadn’t, although he did have a few connections. He’d been on the fringes of a few shady deals, but nothing serious and nothing he was willing to brag about, especially now that he was a business owner and a member of the town council.

Yeah, he was a success these days—a genuine, bona fide establishment success. His father would never believe it.

Bob knew he’d made his share of stupid mistakes, but he was a man who wanted the same things every other man did. And that included his own woman. He’d known right away that Merrily was the one for him. He was crazy about her.

He probably shouldn’t be. For all he knew, she could have ten other men just like him in places all around the country. He had no idea where she went or who she was with. Only once in all this time had she mailed him a postcard. It’d come from someplace in California in the middle of winter, when the wind-chill factor lowered temperatures in Buffalo Valley to Arctic levels. He’d been shivering his ass off and she’d been getting a tan on a California beach.

Locking the door, Buffalo Bob shut down the restaurant and bar for the night. No need to sit in an empty room, cranky and depressed, when he could do the same thing in front of his television.

He’d just started up the stairs when he heard the phone. He paused, his foot on the bottom step, half-tempted to let it ring. But he didn’t get many calls, and curiosity got the better of him.

“Yeah?” he barked into the phone.

“Hey, is that any way to greet your one and only Buffalo Gal?”

“Merrily? Where the hell are you?”

“Same place as always.”

“What the hell are you doing there when you should be here?” He knew she didn’t like it when he made demands, but he couldn’t stop himself. “When’re you coming back?”

“Miss me, do you?”

She didn’t know the half of it. “You could say that,” he said, playing it low-key.

Her laugh was quiet and sexy. Just hearing it sent shivers racing down his spine. It hurt his pride to let her know what a sorry excuse for a man he was without her. But, dammit, she meant more to him than even his pride.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she whispered, as if it was a concession for her to admit that much.

“You coming back or not?”

“I’ve been considering it.” She laughed again and he could imagine the look on her face—her teasing smile, her eyes wide open, eyebrows raised.

“When will you get here? I’ll put out the welcome mat.” Despite everything, he couldn’t keep the eagerness from his voice.

“I can’t say,” she murmured.

“You need help?”

“What kind of help?”

“I could send you money.” Buffalo Bob realized the minute he said the words that he’d made a mistake. Like him, Merrily had an abundance of pride, and he’d already stepped on it once, earlier in their relationship, by offering her a loan. In fact, she’d come to him that day, wanting to help him without stepping on his pride. Her generosity had touched his heart and it was then that he’d recognized something profound. He loved her.

Buffalo Bob wasn’t a man who loved easily. Over the years he’d had plenty of women, and sex had always been available. He hadn’t been looking for emotional engagements. Women passed in and out of his life; he barely noticed. Merrily was different, had always been different.

“I don’t need your money,” she said curtly.

“Okay, okay. But if you ever do—”

“I gotta go.”

“Merrily,” he shouted, stopping her, “don’t hang up!”

“What?” she snapped.

“You didn’t say where you were.”

“So what?” She sounded bored.

“What’s the weather like?” It was a silly question and without purpose, other than keeping her on the line.

“I don’t know. Gotta go outside and look.”

“It was over eighty here last Tuesday.”

“In Buffalo Valley?” Her voice was skeptical. “I thought you’d have had your first snowfall by now.”

“We could get snow this month, but more likely it’ll come in November.” He grimaced; he was beginning to sound like a television weatherman.

“Gotta go,” Merrily insisted.

“Call me again, all right?” He tried not to plead.

“I… I don’t know if I can.”

“Why not?” he demanded. A hundred scenarios raced through his mind and he didn’t like any of them. “You’re with someone else, aren’t you?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snarled back.

“Yeah, well it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. Every time you’re not with me, you’re with him.”

“Believe what you want.” The second’s delay in her response told him he’d guessed right. Merrily was with someone else. His gut contracted in a hard, painful knot.

“You can’t have us both,” he said angrily.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated. She seemed to be forcing the words from between clenched teeth.

“Don’t call again.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” With that, she slammed the phone in his ear.

Buffalo Bob banged the receiver down with such fury it was amazing the telephone remained in one piece.

That settled that. It was over.

After tonight, Merrily would never come back. He stalked away from the phone, and then turned abruptly. He could punch in two numbers that would automatically redial the number of the last person who’d called.

Buffalo Bob couldn’t let the relationship end. Not like this, not in anger. He shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have asked about there being another man. If there was—although he prayed it wasn’t true—he wanted the chance to fight for Merrily. Wanted the opportunity to prove himself.

He punched in the numbers and waited. Barely a second passed before he heard the phone ring. A deep sigh of relief eased the tension between his shoulder blades.

Three rings, and no answer.

“Come on, baby,” he urged, “pick up the phone. Let’s talk this out, you and me.”

Five rings, no answer.

“Merrily, dammit, don’t end it like this,” he said to himself.

Seven rings, no answer.

Eight.

Nine.

He issued an expletive that would’ve made his mother wash out his mouth with soap if she’d been alive to hear it.

“Hello.”

Buffalo Bob was so stunned he didn’t know what to say. “Is Merrily Benson available?” he asked, polite as a preacher.

“Who?”

“Merrily Benson.”

“Listen, buddy, this is a pay phone outside a restroom.”

“Where?” Buffalo Bob demanded.

“A bowling alley.”

“I meant what city,” he said, losing patience.

“Santa Cruz.”

“Where?” he said again, louder this time.

“California.” Then the man hung up.

Four

Dennis Urlacher had given a lot of thought to making peace with Sarah’s daughter. He just didn’t know how to do it. He’d made numerous attempts to be her friend, to gain her confidence. Each effort had backfired. Their relationship was worse now than it had ever been. Calla was belligerent, disdainful and downright rude to him. Because he loved Sarah, Dennis had taken everything the little brat dished out. No more.

Sarah never had told him why she’d come to his house a week earlier, but Dennis had pretty much figured it out. She’d had a fight with Calla. He’d held her, made love to her and let her sleep in his arms while he watched her, treasuring every minute they could be together.

Close to midnight, she’d awakened, flustered and upset that he’d let her sleep. He stood by silently while she’d hurriedly dressed, then he got dressed, too, and drove her home. They’d kissed, and she’d sneaked inside, almost as if they were both teenagers, fearing a parental confrontation.

Dennis hadn’t seen or talked to Sarah since. That was her usual pattern. They’d make love and afterward she’d avoid him. He didn’t like it, but didn’t know how to break the destructive habit they’d fallen into.

From his gas station, Dennis watched the school bus roll into town, which signaled that classes were out for the day. Buffalo Valley and Bellmont had come up with a plan that enabled each town to keep its schools open. The Bellmont school taught the elementary and junior-high students, and Buffalo Valley was responsible for the high-schoolers from both communities. It meant busing a lot of kids in a lot of different directions, but the plan had worked, and both schools were doing well.

Dennis gave Calla half an hour to make it home. Then he left Bruce Buechler, his employee, in charge of the station, and he walked quickly to Josh McKenna’s house. He rang the doorbell.

Calla didn’t keep him waiting long, and he could tell from her expression that he was the last person she’d expected to see. “My mom isn’t here,” she announced curtly. She would have closed the door if he hadn’t stopped her.

“I know.”

“My grandpa’s at the store.”

“I know that, too. I came to talk to you.”

She stared at him, frowning. “But I don’t want to talk to you.”

“The least you can do is hear me out.”

She crossed her arms and gave him a bored look. “Okay, fine. What do you want?”

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” He gestured toward the porch swing.

“I prefer to stand.”

He sighed. “All right,” he muttered. Although he realized that it gave her the advantage, he took a seat and let her stand. “As you already know, I care deeply for your mother.”

Calla snickered, and Dennis gritted his teeth.

“Your attitude toward the two of us is tearing your mother apart.”

“You think I don’t know that you’re lovers?” Calla said scornfully.

Dennis stiffened. “What happens between your mother and me is none of your business.”

“You two make me sick.”

“Perhaps when you’re an adult—”

“An adult?” she repeated, sounding vastly amused. “You think my feelings toward you are going to change?”

“I’m hoping you’ll be a bit more tolerant.”

Her chin came up a defiant notch. “Don’t count on it.”

This conversation was not going the way Dennis had hoped. “As I started to say, your attitude is hurting your mother. She loves me.”

Calla pinched her lips together and stared into the street as if mesmerized.

“What’s it going to take for you to understand that I only want the best for you both?”

Her gaze flickered toward him as if his words had caught her off guard. “Then stay the hell out of our lives.”

“I’m not willing to do that. Perhaps if you told me what you find so objectionable about me…”

“For starters, you’re five years younger than my mother.”

“That doesn’t bother us, so why should it bother you?”

“Because it does.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.” She faced him then, hands lowered to her sides, fists clenched. “I have a father.”

He wasn’t sure what she was saying. “Yes,” he urged, wanting her to elaborate.

“You think you can take his place in my life.”

Dennis’s head reared back in surprise. “Calla, no! I don’t think that at all.” So that was it. She feared he was going to interrupt the limited relationship she had with Willie Stern. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said, keeping his voice calm and as sincere as he could make it.

“If it wasn’t for you, my mom and dad might get back together.”

Dennis sighed with frustration. “I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“How would you know?” she demanded. “My dad told me—” She closed her mouth as if she regretted having said that much.

“Are you saying your father holds out some hope of a reconciliation?” Dennis asked, unable to believe it. Sarah hardly ever mentioned Willie, and when she did, it was with disgust for the things he’d done.

“He still loves her,” Calla blurted out. “He told me so himself.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t,” Calla cried. She turned toward the house and jerked open the screen door. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d have a real family.” Then she glared at him with such fierce animosity Dennis felt as if he’d been slapped. “I hate you. You’ve ruined my entire life.” She whirled into the house, slamming the door hard enough to shake the front windows.

Dennis waited for the anger to wash over him. Calla’s, plus his own. So much for clearing the air. She hated his guts. Furthermore, she lived in a fantasy world in which he was the villain.

Not knowing what else he could say or do, Dennis walked over to Sarah’s shop. Luckily she wasn’t in the middle of a class, but he could tell from the way her eyes shifted away from his that she wasn’t pleased to see him.

“Hello, Sarah,” he said, standing just inside the doorway.

She nodded; however, she didn’t return his greeting.

“I have a question for you.”

“All right,” she said, but she stayed on the other side of the room. He understood her need to maintain a distance. It was necessary just then for both of them.

“Is there any chance of you reconciling with Willie?”

Her head shot up and she laughed shortly. “No!” The vehemence of her response told him everything he needed to know.

“That’s not what Calla thinks.”

She continued to stare at him, her eyes narrowing. “You talked to Calla? When?”

“Just now.”

“What gave you the right to talk to my daughter about my marriage?”

“I didn’t. I came to talk to her about you and me.”

That apparently wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear, either. She closed her eyes, mouth tensed, as if trying to hold back her anger.

“You don’t think I should be talking to Calla? Is that it?”

“She’s my daughter.”

“I know, and she hates me. I wanted to find out what I’ve done that’s so awful she doesn’t want anything to do with me. Or worse, why she doesn’t want me to be with you.”

“My daughter is my concern.”

“I’m not telling you how to raise her,” he said. “All I wanted to do was set things straight.”

“And she told you there’s a chance her father and I will reconcile?”

He nodded.

“Stay away from my daughter, Dennis.”

“Fine, if that’s the way you want it.” He didn’t know what terrible crime he’d committed. “Do you want me to stay away from you, too?” he demanded.

She didn’t answer.

“Do you?” he asked a second time. “You say the word and I’m out of here, Sarah. I’m tired of ramming my head against a brick wall. It hurts too damn much.” He wasn’t a man who raised his voice often nor did he easily lose his temper, but he’d reached his limit with both Sarah and Calla.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded.

Her voice was so soft he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.

“Don’t do what?” he burst out. “Don’t want a life with the woman I love? Don’t want to share my days and nights with you? Don’t want children of my own?” He was still too angry to lower his voice.

“Dennis…”

“You ask too much.” Shaking his head, he walked out of the store and headed back to the service station, his heart as heavy as his steps.

Maddy checked the printed directions to the Clemens’ Triple C cattle ranch as she crossed the highway over Juniper Creek. On the spur of the moment, she’d decided to leave Jeb’s ranch for last. Driving to the Clemens’ spread first meant going out of her way, but she didn’t mind.

Her practice run a week earlier had helped her figure out the unfamiliar country roads. As before, she marveled at the beauty of the landscape—the pastureland, the wheat fields recently shorn, the row upon row of glorious sunflowers, ready for harvest. Birds were everywhere, their song a perfect counterpoint to the visual delights all around her.

Maddy looked forward to meeting the Clemenses. So far, every conversation with Bernard Clemens had been by phone. He’d mentioned his daughter, Margaret, in passing and Maddy was particularly eager to meet her. Lindsay never had. It seemed the Clemens property was an equal distance between Buffalo Valley and Bellmont, and Lindsay assumed that Margaret usually did her shopping in Bellmont. Still, the housekeeper had faxed Maddy a long supply list earlier in the week, obviously interested in her new delivery service.

Turning down the dirt roadway, Maddy could see a large two-story white house in the distance, an impressive-looking place with a pasture out front where three sleek horses grazed. The outbuildings were well maintained, too. Unaccustomed to farm and ranch living, she couldn’t identify all of them, but in addition to the huge red barn there appeared to be a grain silo and several other structures, including a foreman’s house and a bunkhouse. She might not know much about country living, but she knew the Clemenses had money.

No expense had been spared. Everything about the ranch spoke of prosperity and abundance, unlike most of the other farms and ranches she’d visited earlier in the day.

She parked her Bronco, and by the time she’d climbed out, a young man was strolling briskly toward her. He wore jeans, a plaid shirt, chaps and a cowboy hat—what seemed to be the uniform of a rancher.

“Can I help you?”

Maddy frowned, noting that the man’s voice sounded feminine.

The cowboy raised wide expectant eyes to her. “I’m Margaret Clemens.”

“You’re Margaret?” Maddy said aloud before she could stop herself.

Margaret removed one glove and boldly thrust out her hand. Maddy shook it briskly.

“I’m Maddy… Maddy Washburn,” she muttered, embarrassed that she hadn’t concealed her shock a little more effectively.

Margaret swept off her hat to reveal short cropped hair. Then she wiped her brow. “You the new grocer?”

Maddy nodded.

“Welcome to Buffalo County.”

“Thank you,” Maddy managed to say. “Actually, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Margaret set her hat back on her head. “Me?”

The question flustered Maddy even more. “Well, you know, we’re both women, and close in age and… well,” she faltered, afraid to say anything else.

Margaret let loose with a bull laugh and slapped Maddy hard on the back. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, too. You seem a bit… surprised.”

“You aren’t exactly what I expected.”

Thankfully she didn’t take offense at Maddy’s honesty and instead responded with another deep laugh. “Guess I’m not what most people expect. Come on inside and we can talk.” She led the way toward the house, stopping just outside the door to take off her hat again. Then she proceeded to slap the Stetson against her legs, scattering clouds of dust all around her. Finally she put the hat back on.

“Sadie gets upset if I traipse dirt into the house,” Margaret announced. “Are you clean?”

“I—I think so,” Maddy said, doing a poor job of hiding a smile.

“Good. I wouldn’t want her cussin’ you out the first time you meet.” Margaret barged into the kitchen where a plump elderly woman stood by the stove. Maddy followed.

“This is Maddy Washburn,” Margaret said. “The grocery lady.”

The other woman smiled shyly.

“You must be Sadie,” Maddy said, and stepped forward to offer the housekeeper her hand. “I got your fax and I have your groceries in the back of my truck.”

“I’ll carry those in for you,” Margaret said. “You don’t look strong enough to haul much of anything.” She started out the back door.

“I’ll help.” She hurried after Margaret, astonished at how fast the other woman moved. When she reached her car, Margaret already had the back open and had lifted the larger of the two boxes into her arms.

“Anything else?” Margaret asked.

“No…” Maddy said, walking behind her, positive that Margaret would drop something. She was carrying forty pounds without apparent effort. Sadie held the door open for Margaret, who quickly deposited the box on the kitchen table.

“You want a beer?” Margaret asked, clomping over to the refrigerator.

It was a little too early in the day for Maddy. “Do you have coffee?”

“We’ve always got coffee,” Margaret told her as she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of beer.

Sadie poured Maddy a mug of coffee and handed it to her, gesturing toward the sugar bowl, which was in the middle of the table. Maddy helped herself.

Margaret sat down and Maddy joined her. Margaret leaned back in the chair and stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankles. A half smile turned up her mouth. “Sadie doesn’t like me drinking beer in the middle of the day, but I don’t pay any attention.”

Maddy looked up and noticed the older woman frowning darkly at Margaret.

“So,” Margaret said, after taking a long deep swallow, “what do you think of North Dakota so far?”

“I like it,” Maddy returned without hesitation. “Have you lived here all your life?”

“Yup. Right here on Juniper Creek. Daddy and me raise Angus beef—some of the best in the country.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about raising cattle.”

“You stick around for a while and you’ll learn more than you ever cared to know.” She guzzled the rest of her beer and set the empty can on the table, ignoring the housekeeper’s disapproving glare.

“Dad’s been ranching nearly fifty years. He’s the oldest of seven boys, and at one time or another, each of my uncles worked here. Dad needed the help, especially after Mom died.”

“When was that?”

“I wasn’t a year old. Dad didn’t know what to do with a girl—hadn’t been around them much. But between my dad and my uncles, I turned out all right.” She straightened. “So—now you’ve met me.”

“Yes.” Maddy nodded. “I was hoping we’d have a chance to get to know each other.”

Margaret tipped her hat farther back on her head, using her index finger. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before, but I could use one.”

“What about school? Surely you had girlfriends while you were in school?”

“Didn’t attend beyond the sixth grade,” Margaret said matter-of-factly. “No need. Home-schooled. Dad taught me. Dad and my uncles. Besides, I had to stay here, help with the ranch.”

“Oh.”

“It’s become kind of a problem now, though.”

“How’s that?”

For the first time Margaret looked uncomfortable. She picked up the empty beer can and studied the writing on the side as if she’d never seen the brand name before. “There’s this guy I like.” She gave a quick shrug. “He doesn’t know I’m alive. I’ve been thinking the reason he doesn’t like me the way I like him is because he doesn’t see me as a woman.”

Recalling her own first impression, Maddy could well believe it.

“If you’re willing to be my friend, then I’m willing to be yours. Friends help each other—maybe you could help me look pretty. Like you. But don’t think it’d be all one-sided,” Margaret said. “I could teach you whatever you wanted to know about cattle. Horses, too. We’re castrating bulls tomorrow if you want to learn about that.”

“Ah…” Maddy didn’t want to be rude, but she wasn’t interested in seeing anything, bull or otherwise, castrated. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

Margaret stared at her hard for a moment, then spoke abruptly. “I have a confession to make. The guy I like? His name’s Matt, and I more than like him, I’m crazy about him. If you could show me how to get his attention, I’d be eternally grateful.”

Margaret’s girlish words and earnest tone touched Maddy’s heart. “I’d be honored to be your friend.”

“Great!” Margaret smiled broadly. “That calls for another beer.”

Fifteen minutes later, Maddy was on the road, headed for Jeb’s ranch. Never in her life had she met anyone quite like Margaret Clemens. But if Margaret was sincere about wanting Maddy as her friend, then Maddy would look forward to what they could learn from each other. Besides castrating bulls, of course.

Having saved Jeb’s ranch for last, she was disappointed to find him gone. He’d taped a note to his door, instructing her to leave his groceries in the kitchen.

His supply order had been relatively small, and she carried it inside easily enough and set the box on the counter. Then—because she couldn’t resist—she moved into the living room.

The kitchen was compact, but by contrast his living room was spacious and inviting. A big overstuffed chair was positioned next to the fireplace, an open book draped over the arm. Maddy glanced at the title and saw it was a courtroom drama she’d read herself.

Above the fireplace hung a huge picture of five or six buffalo nestled beneath a cottonwood tree in the middle of a snowstorm. Their dark hides were heavily dusted with snow. The landscape was mostly white with tufts of brownish grass poking out through the drifts.

It took her a moment to realize this was no painting but an actual photograph, and she wondered if Jeb had taken it himself. One day she’d ask him. As she stepped closer to study the image, her foot nudged something hard and she looked down to see several pieces of wood on the floor, next to the chair. There were four carvings in various stages of completion.

Crouching, Maddy examined the pieces and found them intricate and beautiful. Three were of buffalo and another was of a cowboy, his head lowered as if he carried a heavy burden of sadness. She marveled at Jeb’s talent, and knew she’d glimpsed something intimate here, something private. She sensed that he’d be embarrassed if she were to mention seeing his work.

What she’d told Lindsay recently was true. She was attracted to Jeb McKenna. Admittedly she had no business being curious about him, or his home, but she felt a strong impulse to learn exactly who he was, what he was. She recognized his pain and longed to ease it.

On impulse, Maddy reached for a piece of paper and wrote.

Hello, Jeb,

Sorry I missed seeing you. Your order’s on the counter, as you requested. If I forgot anything, let me know and I’ll include it in next week’s delivery.

I like your home. The picture over the fireplace is incredible. Again, I’m sorry I missed you.

Until next week.

Maddy Washburn

She propped the note against the salt-and-pepper shakers on the kitchen table and quietly left.

Heath Quantrill was fast losing patience with Rachel Fischer. For nearly a year now, Heath had been dating Rachel on and off—mostly off—with the hope of becoming—He stopped midthought. The hope of becoming… Damned if he knew anymore.

He pushed his chair away from the desk. Maybe that was his problem. He didn’t know what he wanted from Rachel. Then again, he did know. Only she wasn’t interested.

Last winter he’d made the mistake of taking her to dinner and making the wrong assumption about her. Okay, it’d been more than that; it’d been a definite error in judgment. And he’d been sorry ever since. He liked Rachel, enjoyed her company. She was wise and funny and she’d suffered a devastating loss. She knew. She understood.

Heath was a man who’d dealt with painful losses, too. His parents were dead, and his only brother, Max, had been killed eighteen months earlier, when he’d tried to avoid hitting a deer during a snowstorm.

Heath had been in Europe at the time, traveling from country to country without obligations, living one grand adventure after another. He was certainly in no hurry to return home. The bank his grandparents had started was in capable hands. Max had been the one with financial ability, and Heath was more than happy to let his older brother handle the business. Besides, Heath and his grandmother had argued from the time he was a teenager. He’d concluded that it was better for everyone involved if he stayed away—from the bank and from Lily Quantrill.

Then Max had died and Heath had no choice but to come home. His grandmother needed him, and to his surprise, Heath discovered he needed her, too. They were all that was left of the family. Overnight, Heath found himself responsible for the business. The Quantrills had been in banking for three generations, and there were now ten branches in as many towns and cities around the state.

As part of his training he’d taken over the management of the Buffalo Valley bank—the original location. He worked there three days a week and two days in Grand Forks at the corporate office. It was when Rachel Fischer applied for a loan to buy a pizza oven that he’d met the young widow.

At first he hadn’t given her much notice. In fact, he’d refused her loan until his grandmother had taken him to task. She’d pointed out that Rachel was willing to invest in the community when few others were doing so. That one loan had been a valuable lesson. His grandmother had insisted all his schooling wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good unless he learned to look at loan applications with his head and his heart.

He’d frequently looked at Rachel with his heart in the months since. Their first date had ended in disaster. Heath knew she was attracted to him, and frankly it was mutual; as a result, he’d said some things that would’ve been better left unsaid. Afterward they’d ignored each other. Okay, she’d ignored him and he’d pretended to ignore her.

Being rejected by a woman was a new experience for him. She’d been serious about it, too. Time had proved it wasn’t just a ploy or a trick to keep him interested. Quite simply, she didn’t want what he was offering. Once he was able to set his ego aside, Heath had asked Rachel for a second chance, which she’d granted, and to date, eight months later, he’d been a perfect gentleman. He’d challenge anyone to fault his manners.

Twice now he’d taken her to dinner with his grandmother. He’d spent time with Mark, Rachel’s ten-year-old son. He’d gone out of his way to prove himself and the sincerity of his intentions. He just didn’t know how much longer he was going to have to do penance.

Rachel’s small restaurant was situated where her parents had once operated the Morningside Café. She’d started out making and delivering pizzas on weekends; demand had escalated to the point that she now opened the place five nights a week. No one was more surprised than Rachel herself at this success.

The first time Heath tasted her pizza, nearly a year ago, he knew she had a winner. Rachel prepared her own sauce from the tomatoes that grew in her garden, and the crust was completely homemade. As soon as she got her bank loan, she’d purchased an oven, and she was in business.

In the past year, she’d managed to pay off the pizza oven and purchase ten new tables and chairs. She’d renamed the restaurant The Pizza Parlor. Needless to say, pizza was her specialty, but she also made lasagna—the world’s best. He should know; he’d eaten enough of it.

Heath was the last one to leave the bank. After he’d locked up, he paused at his car and looked down Main Street. He couldn’t be in Buffalo Valley and not think of Rachel. Not that it did him much good.

Oh, they dated occasionally. Very occasionally. With the restaurant open five nights a week, that left only Sunday and Monday evenings free, and she insisted those were her nights with her son.

In other words, she didn’t have time for him.

He’d say one thing for her: She certainly knew how to hurt a man’s ego. Every other woman he’d dated since his return had been flattering and eager for his company. Yet after two or three dates with anyone but Rachel, he simply grew bored.

Taking his briefcase, he walked over to the restaurant, certain he was setting himself up for another disappointment.

“Hello, Heath,” Rachel called out when she saw him. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been busy.” He picked up the menu, although he already knew what he wanted. “How’s the lasagna today?”

“Good as always,” she promised, emerging from the kitchen, water pitcher in hand.

“That’s what I’ll have,” he said. “Everything going okay?”

She nodded. “Wendy Curtis is working for me now.”

Heath wasn’t familiar with the name.

“She’s from a farm outside Bellmont,” Rachel explained. “They grow mostly wheat, some soybeans. Wendy’s kids are in school now, and I hired her part-time in September.”

“Business must be good.”

“Very good.” She filled his water glass. “You want ranch dressing on your dinner salad?”

“Please. Still driving the school bus?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. She’d stopped doing that around the same time she stopped doing the books for Hassie Knight. Giving up those jobs had been an act of faith for her. Her entire income now came from the restaurant and what she collected from Social Security. He’d asked the question because he craved conversation with her; he wanted to hear something that would tell him he’d been in her thoughts, too. Their last official date had been in July, following Lindsay and Gage’s wedding, and he’d gone out with five or six women since then. Not one of them held his interest or stayed on his mind the way Rachel did.

“Janice Moser’s driving the school bus these days,” she told him. Rachel disappeared and returned a few minutes later with his salad and a basket of bread sticks. “Your lasagna will be ready soon.”

“Do you have time to chat?” he asked. It wasn’t as though she was busy right now. It was only a little after five, early even for him.

“Sure.”

He pulled out the other chair for her. She sat down, folding her hands demurely.

“How’s Mark?”

“Fine. Leta Betts watches him for me. It works out all around. She said she’d go stir-crazy nights if it wasn’t for Mark keeping her company. Says it gives her a reason to cook dinner.”

“How’s Kevin liking art school?” Heath asked.

“So far so good,” she said.

Reaching across the table, Heath took one of Rachel’s hands. He opened her palm and studied the lines but they told him nothing. Unfortunately he couldn’t read fortunes, hers or his.

“How about dinner Sunday night?” he suggested. “Just the two of us.”

“I can’t,” she said without pause. “We’ve been through this before. Sunday evening is my time with Mark.”

“It isn’t that you can’t, you won’t.”

“Fine, I won’t, then,” she said. The chair made a scraping sound as she stood. “Besides I thought you were dating Tammy Zimmerman.”

So Rachel was paying attention. Heath had wondered.

“We went out a couple of times,” he admitted. “She’s free on Sunday nights.”

“However, I’m not,” she said and quickly retreated into the kitchen.

Heath was forced to wait several minutes before she returned, this time with his dinner. She set the steaming plate of lasagna in front of him and wordlessly turned away.

“You’re avoiding me, Rachel,” he said, watching her.

She froze, her back to him. Slowly she turned around. “I am not.”

“Why won’t you go out with me?”

She shook her head as if he were the saddest excuse for a man she’d ever seen. “Your problem, Heath Quantrill, is that you’re spoiled rotten. Everyone’s catered to you your entire life. I won’t, so get used to it.”

“Whatever,” he said with no emotion. “But if you aren’t avoiding me, then you set a time and day.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

“Could it be that what I said is true?”

“Saturday morning at eight,” she snapped. “You can take me to breakfast.”

“Fine,” he murmured, feeling a sense of triumph. “I’ll come by the house to pick you up.”

Five

Brandon Wyatt was at a complete loss. He stood in the middle of his yard, the milking pail in his hand, while he mulled over recent events. Joanie had left a message on his answering machine, their first communication in nearly a week, informing him that she’d canceled their session with Dr. Geist. He should’ve been shouting with glee; instead, he feared the worst. It almost seemed as if Joanie was giving up on them, giving up on a reconciliation.

He’d consented to the counseling sessions in an effort to save their marriage. But at the time, he would’ve agreed to stand on his head in the middle of the highway if it brought his family back. He didn’t mean to be obstinate with Dr. Geist or with Joanie, but it seemed ridiculous to be making lists and talking around their problems instead of tackling them head-on.

Joanie kept saying she wanted him to change, but he didn’t know how. Didn’t know what he’d done that was so terrible. He hated the fact that he came away from every session feeling lower than when he’d gone in. He’d hoped they would learn to communicate better, learn to share their hopes and feelings, but that wasn’t the way things had turned out. Dr. Geist had them talking about personality types, strengths and weaknesses and while that was all well and good, it didn’t help him tell Joanie how he felt about their marriage.

A drop of rain splashed his face, and he realized he’d stopped midway between the barn and the house, a pail of milk in his hand. He had chores still to do, although with the crops harvested, the strenuous work was done. Yet he hardly had the energy to finish even tasks as simple—and necessary—as feeding the animals. He felt as bad now as he had when Joanie and the kids first left.

He fed the milk to the pigs and worked outside until lunchtime. The minute he walked into the house, the phone rang. Depressed as he was, he didn’t bother to answer, preferring to let the machine catch it. After bolting a quick sandwich, he went back outside and had almost completed his daily chores when he saw the car approach. He paused, the pitchfork still in his hand, when he realized it was Joanie. A twinge of excitement was quickly followed by a deep sense of dread. Her coming probably meant bad news. His biggest fear was that she was going to tell him she wanted to go ahead with the divorce.

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