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’ve been looking forward to seeing the DAKOTA series in print again! And judging by the letters and e-mails I’ve received over the past few years, so have many of you.

These books are special to me. They reflect the fact that the Dakotas are an important part of my own heritage. My mother was born and raised in Dickinson, North Dakota, and my father came from Ipswich, South Dakota. The Dakotas and the immigrants who settled there shaped my parents’ lives and, in turn, shaped mine. In November 1998 I flew into Minneapolis and met my cousin Shirley Adler.

With a rental car and a map, we toured the Dakotas, laughing ourselves sick along the way, sharing childhood memories. I looked up cousins I hadn’t seen in more than thirty years and savoured some wonderful moments with Aunt Gladys in Dickinson and with Aunt Betty and Uncle Vern in Aberdeen, South Dakota. Uncle Vern has since died, which makes the memories of that visit even more precious. At the time of his death, he and Aunt Betty had been married for seventy-two years!

While I was on this research trip, two writing friends—Judy Baer and Sandy Huseby, both of North Dakota—provided invaluable assistance. They answered countless questions and shared their love and pride in their state with me. I can only hope I did North Dakota justice. And I hope you enjoy this story about finding love in a small town.

PS I’d be delighted to hear from you! You can reach me at my website, www.debbiemacomber.com, or write to me at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.

Dakota Born
Debbie Macomber

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Shirley Adler

My cousin and cherished friend

Prologue

Ten-year-old Lindsay Snyder woke rigid with fear. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. The room was as dark as coal and hot, terribly hot. Then she realized she wasn’t home in Savannah where the air conditioner cooled the worst of the summer heat. She tried not to be afraid, but she was.

The ghost stories she’d heard at camp that summer returned to haunt her. A sudden chill raced down her spine as she recalled the tale of Crazy Man Charlie who was said to tear out people’s eyes … before he murdered them. Somehow, Crazy Man Charlie had found her. Everyone else must be dead. Everyone but her. The dream remained vague, and she tried to remember the details and couldn’t.

Slowly she sat up in the darkness, prepared to confront whatever danger awaited her. As she did, she remembered she was at her grandparents’ house with her parents and two sisters. They’d arrived that evening after driving for what seemed like days and days to North Dakota.

Her eyes had begun to adjust to the night, and Lindsay climbed out of the makeshift bed in her grandma’s sewing room. She tiptoed past her two sleeping sisters and down the hallway to the kitchen for a glass of water.

A sound came from the living room and she froze at the thought of meeting Crazy Man Charlie face-to-face. Holding her breath, she flattened herself against the refrigerator door.

Then Lindsay saw her Grandma Gina, silhouetted in the moonlight that streamed through the big window. The heavy curtains were pulled open and her grandma stood by the brick fireplace, head bent. Lindsay would have rushed to her for a hug and told her all about the crazy man and how scared she’d been, but she didn’t know her Grandma Gina as well as she did her Grandma Dorothy. So she stayed in the kitchen, waiting for her grandmother to notice her.

Except her grandma hadn’t heard Lindsay and didn’t know she was there. Lindsay could see that her grandmother held something in her hand, but she couldn’t tell what it was. Grandma Gina moved closer to the fireplace, but it wasn’t light enough for Lindsay to see what she was doing.

Lindsay’s eyes widened as her grandmother leaned forward and touched the fireplace. A sort of scraping sound followed and a brick slid out. It was a hiding place! A secret hiding place.

Fascinated, Lindsay watched as her grandmother slipped whatever she held in her hand inside the opening. The brick made the same sound as it went back into place.

“Grandma?”

Her hand over her heart, Grandma Gina whirled around. “Good heavens, child! You frightened me.”

Lindsay hurried into the living room and toward the fireplace, but she couldn’t figure out which brick her grandmother had moved.

“What are you doing up?”

Lindsay looked away from the fireplace. “I had a dream about Crazy Man Charlie.”

“Who?”

“I heard stories about him at summer camp.” She ran her fingers along the fireplace, trying to work out which brick had moved. “What did you hide in here, Grandma?”

“It’s nothing, child.”

“But I saw the brick move.”

Her grandmother shook her head. “It was … just a trick of the moonlight.”

“But, Grandma, I saw.”

Her grandmother crouched down, meeting her eyes. “The stories frightened you.”

Her wrinkled face was marked with the streaks of tears that glistened in the moonlight. “Grandma, are you crying?”

“No … no,” her grandmother insisted. “Why would I be crying?”

“But that’s what it looks like.” Lindsay raised her hand to her grandmother’s cheek and brushed her fingertips tentatively against the soft skin.

Her grandmother tried to smile, but her lower lip quivered.

“Are you sad?” Lindsay asked.

“A little,” she whispered, and hugged Lindsay close, so close she could feel the beating of her grandma’s heart.

“I’ll draw you a picture, and then you won’t be sad anymore.”

“You sweet, sweet child. Now let me take you back to bed.”

“I’m thirsty.”

She released Lindsay and led her into the kitchen, where she took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water.

Her grandma had let the tap run and the water was nice and cold. Lindsay gulped it down, then put the glass on the counter. “What did you hide in the fireplace?” she asked again. She didn’t understand why Grandma Gina was pretending like this.

Her grandmother gently stroked the hair from her face. “You didn’t see anything.”

“But I did.” Walking over to the fireplace, Lindsay tried really hard to find the spot her grandmother had touched. She pushed and prodded at various bricks, but nothing moved.

Her grandmother joined her. “Lindsay, look at me.”

Lindsay turned around.

Her grandmother crouched down again. The tears were back in her eyes and she hugged Lindsay tightly. “What you saw is our secret, all right?”

Lindsay nodded.

“But I want you to forget all about it.”

Lindsay didn’t know if she could.

Her grandmother held Lindsay’s face in both hands and stared at her intently. “Promise me you’ll never tell anyone what you saw.”

“All right, Grandma, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“Good.” She kissed Lindsay’s cheek. “Now let me tuck you back into bed.”

One

“We’re doomed,” Jacob Hansen said in sepulchral tones. He marched into the room, shaking his grizzled head.

“You might as well board up the entire town right now.” Marta Hansen followed her husband into the dining room at Buffalo Bob’s 3 OF A KIND. With the energy that so often accompanies righteousness, she plunked herself down at the table with the other members of the Buffalo Valley town council.

Joshua McKenna figured this kind of pessimism pretty much ensured that they wouldn’t accomplish anything. Not that he blamed the couple. For nearly twenty years the Hansens, along with everyone else in Buffalo Valley, had watched the once-thriving farm community deteriorate, until now the town was barely holding on. The theater had closed first, and then the beauty shop and the florist and the hardware store … It hurt most when the catalog store pulled up stakes—that had been six years ago—and then the Morningside Café, the one decent restaurant in town, had closed for good.

Even now, Joshua missed Melissa’s cooking. She’d baked biscuits that were so light and fluffy they practically floated into your mouth. Joshua got hungry just thinking about those biscuits.

Businesses survived as long as they could on their continually diminishing returns—until they were driven to financial ruin and finally forced to close up shop. Families drifted away and farmland changed ownership, the bigger farms buying up the smaller ones. Large or small, everyone struggled these days with low agricultural prices. He had to hand it to the farmers, though. They were smart, and getting smarter all the time. Over the years, agricultural research and hardier strains had made it possible to urge a larger yield out of the land. Where an acre would once produce a hundred bushels, it was now possible to harvest almost twice that. Somehow, a lot of the farmers had managed to keep going—because they believed in their heritage and because they trusted in the future, hoping they’d eventually get a fair price for their crops. Since they stayed, a few of the businesses in town clung, too.

Joshua’s was one of them, although he’d certainly been struggling for the last while. He sold used goods and antiques, and did repairs; in that area, at least, business was steady. It was his gift, he supposed, to be able to fix things. With money tight, people did whatever they could to avoid buying something new. He just wished his talent extended to fixing lives and rearranging circumstances. If it had, he’d start with his own family. Heaven knew his son needed help. His daughter and granddaughter, too. He didn’t like to think about the changes in their lives during the past few years, and he hated the helpless feeling that came over him whenever he did.

His wife, Marjorie, had always dealt with the children, but she’d been gone ten years now. He often wondered if she’d recognize Buffalo Valley these days and wished he had her wisdom in dealing with its problems. She would’ve been shocked to learn he’d been elected president of the town council. A position he hadn’t sought, but one he’d assumed by default when Bill Wilson had to close his gas station and move to Fargo.

“We’re doomed this time,” Marta repeated, daring anyone to argue with her.

“This town’s survived all these years. We’ll hold on now.” Hassie Knight, who owned Knight’s Pharmacy, said emphatically.

Hassie was a born optimist and the one person in town who was sure to see even this situation in a positive light. If anyone could come up with a solution, it’d be Hassie, God bless her.

Like him, Hassie had experienced her share of grief. She’d buried her son, who’d been killed in Vietnam nearly thirty years ago, and not long afterward, had lost her husband. Carl Knight had died from complications of diabetes, but Hassie had always maintained that the real cause of death was a broken heart. Her daughter lived in Hawaii, and Joshua knew Valerie would like nothing better than to have her mother retire nearby. Thankfully, Hassie had resisted Valerie’s efforts. The old woman was long past the age of retirement, but she did much more than fill prescriptions. Hassie was the closest thing the community had to a doctor, and folks from miles around came to her for medical advice. Yes, Hassie Knight was a popular woman, all right. It didn’t hurt any that she served the best sodas he’d ever tasted. The old-fashioned kind from the fountain in the corner of her store. Chocolate sodas and good advice—those were her specialties.

“We’ve hung on for so many years, we’re already dead and don’t even have the sense to know it,” Marta said caustically as she crossed her arms over her hefty bosom.

“Will you stop!” Joshua pounded the gavel on the tabletop with so much force, the ice in the water glasses danced. He sat back down and motioned to Hassie. “Would you take roll call?”

Hassie Knight’s bones creaked audibly as she stood.

“Roll call? Now that’s gonna be useful,” Marta Hansen muttered. “That’s like what’s-his-name, that emperor, fiddling while Rome burned.”

She was obviously mighty pleased with her classical allusion. Must’ve been on Jeopardy last night, Joshua thought.

“Nero. The emperor was Nero,” he couldn’t resist adding. Still, he hated to admit it, but Marta was right. Roll call was a waste of time; all they had to do was look around the table to know who was present and who wasn’t. Hassie, the Hansens, Dennis Urlacher and him. Absent: Gage Sinclair and Heath Quantrill. Joshua stopped Hassie before she had a chance to start.

“Fine, we’ll dispense with the usual formalities and get on with the meeting.”

“Thank God someone in this town is willing to listen to reason,” Marta said, glaring across the table at Hassie.

It was only natural that the town pessimist and the town optimist would be in constant opposition. “You and Jacob have as much to gain or lose as the rest of us,” Hassie snapped. “A positive mental attitude would help.”

“I’m positive,” Jacob said with a nod. “Positive that Buffalo Valley is as dead as Eloise Patten.”

“If she was going to up and die unexpected like that, the least she could’ve done was tell someone she wasn’t well,” Marta said in her usual righteous manner.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said—which is really saying something.” Hassie’s face reddened, and Joshua could see she was having difficulty restraining her temper. The truth was, the Hansens exasperated him, too. How they’d managed to run the grocery during these hard times when they had such a negative outlook toward life was beyond him. Still, he was grateful their store had survived. Joshua didn’t know what would happen if they ever decided to leave Buffalo Valley.

“All right, all right.” Joshua wiped his brow with a stained white handkerchief. “We’ll move on to new business.”

With obvious reluctance, Hassie reclaimed her seat.

“We all know why we’re here,” Jacob said. “The school needs a teacher.”

“Does anyone mind if I sit in?” Buffalo Bob asked, pulling out a chair before anyone could object.

Marta and Jacob glanced at each other and seemed to understand that if they raised a fuss, Hassie would make a point of asking Marta to leave, since she wasn’t officially a member of the town council. Joshua suspected the only reason she attended the meetings was to advise Jacob on how to vote.

“We’d welcome your help,” Joshua assured Bob.

Without a word Dennis Urlacher, who owned the Cenex Gas Station, shoved his chair aside to make room for him. Bob Carr was an ex-biker who’d settled in the town a couple of years earlier after winning the bar, grill and small hotel in a poker game. He’d immediately rechristened himself Buffalo Bob.

Joshua looked down at his notes. “As you all know, Eloise Patten is gone.”

“She’s more than gone,” Marta Hansen interrupted. “She’s dead!”

“Marta!” Joshua had taken about all he could from her. “The point is we don’t have a teacher.”

“Hire one.” Buffalo Bob leaned back on two legs of his chair, as if he figured they were all overreacting to this crisis.

“No one’s going to want to teach in a town that’s dying,” Jacob grumbled, shaking his head. “Besides, I never did think much of dividing up the schools. Bussing our grade-schoolers over to Bellmont and then having them send their high-schoolers to us was a piss-poor idea, if you ask me.”

“We already did ask you,” Joshua barked, no longer making any attempt to control his impatience. “It won’t do any good to rehash what’s already been decided and acted upon. Bussing the children has worked for the last four years, and would continue to do so if Eloise hadn’t passed on the way she did.”

“Eloise should’ve retired years ago,” Marta complained under her breath.

“Well, thank God she didn’t,” Joshua said. “We owe her a lot.” Eloise Patten had been a godsend to this community, and if no one else said it, he would. The schoolteacher had been the one to suggest splitting up the elementary and high-school students between the two towns. The Hansens’ attitude was typical of the thinking that was detrimental to such progressive ideas. The small farming communities, or what remained of them, needed to rely on each other. It was either that or lose everything. If Buffalo Valley was going to survive when so many towns on the prairie hadn’t, they had to learn to work together.

“We’ve got to find us a new teacher, is all.” Dennis could be counted on to cut to the chase—to state the basic, unadorned facts. He owned and operated the only gas station left in town and wasn’t much of a talker. When he did speak, it was generally worth listening.

Joshua knew that his daughter, Sarah, and Dennis had some kind of romance going between them, despite the decided efforts of his daughter to keep it a secret. Joshua didn’t understand why she felt it was so all-fired important nobody know about this relationship. After her disastrous marriage, Joshua would’ve welcomed Dennis into the family. He suspected that Sarah’s reluctance to marry Dennis had to do with her daughter, Calla, who was fourteen. A difficult age—as he remembered well.

“We could throw in living quarters, couldn’t we?” Buffalo Bob was saying. “For the teacher?”

“Good idea.” Joshua pointed the gavel at the hotel owner. “There’s two or three empty houses close to the school.”

“Nobody’s going to want to live in those old places,” Marta insisted. “They’re full of mice and God knows what else.”

“We can always clean one up.”

The others nodded.

“In case no one’s noticed, there’s a teacher shortage in this state.” This came from Jacob, and as if on cue, Marta nodded.

“We could always advertise,” Hassie began tentatively.

“Advertise? We don’t have that kind of money,” Marta said in a sharp voice.

“If we don’t advertise, what exactly do you suggest?” Joshua asked.

Jacob and Marta looked at each other. Jacob got heavily to his feet and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the table. “I think it’s time we all admitted the truth. Buffalo Valley is doomed and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.” Marta nodded again, a satisfied expression on her face.

His announcement was met with an immediate outburst from both Hassie and Buffalo Bob.

“Just a minute here!” Buffalo Bob shouted.

“I raised two children in this town,” Hassie cried, “and buried one. I’m not going to let Buffalo Valley die if it’s the last thing I do. Any one of you who—”

“… invested my entire inheritance in this bar and grill,” Buffalo Bob shouted in order to be heard above Hassie.

Joshua slammed the gavel down. “No one said anything about giving up.”

“No teacher’s gonna want to move here.” Marta apparently felt obliged to remind them of this.

“We’ll find a teacher.” Joshua refused to let the Hansens’ pessimism influence the meeting any longer.

“Look around you,” Jacob Hansen said, gesturing at the greasy window that faced the main street.

Joshua didn’t need to look; he confronted the evidence every day when he opened his shop. The boarded-up businesses. The cracked sidewalks, with weeds sprouting up through the cracks. The litter on the streets. Whatever community pride there’d once been had long since died.

“We aren’t going to let the school close,” Joshua stated emphatically.

“I second that!” Hassie said. A deep sense of relief showed on her face, and the determination in her voice matched Joshua’s. He had lived his entire life in this place and he’d do whatever he could to save it. Come hell or high water, they’d find a teacher before school started up again at the end of August.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jacob Hansen said just loudly enough for them all to hear.

“Well, then—prepare to believe,” Joshua said grandly.

There was more life in Buffalo Valley than either of the Hansens suspected, and Joshua was going to prove it.

Lindsay Snyder felt the anger churning in her stomach, anger at her own foolishness as much as anything. With her dogs sound asleep at her feet, she sat at her kitchen table and wrote in the pages of her journal. Whenever she was upset, she described her feelings; it helped her clarify them, helped her analyze what had happened and why. This time, though, she already knew the answers.

When she finished, she set the leather-bound book aside and stared sightlessly out her apartment window. But it wasn’t the landscape she saw; it was her future.

Monte was never going to marry her.

She should have recognized it two years ago, and hadn’t. She realized it was because she so desperately wanted to be his wife, wanted to have a family with him. She loved him, and wasn’t marriage supposed to be the natural outcome of loving a man? But she’d allowed herself to see what she’d hoped to see. She’d allowed herself to believe she could convince him.

Monte hadn’t lied to her, hadn’t misled her. From the beginning, he’d told her he wasn’t interested in marriage. He loved her, he said, but his divorce several years earlier had devastated him and he’d vowed not to repeat the experience. He’d never indicated in any way that he might change his mind. Lindsay knew there was only one person to blame for her unhappiness—and it wasn’t Monte.

Soon—maybe six months—after their relationship had begun, she’d left him because he’d been adamant on the subject of marriage. He’d persuaded her to come back and she had, foolishly believing that eventually he’d change his mind and see things the way she did.

It hadn’t happened.

The phone rang and Lindsay glanced at the caller ID, relieved and at the same time depressed to see that it wasn’t his number.

“Hello,” she mumbled into the phone.

“It’s Maddy.”

“I know.”

“Hey, it’s a beautiful summer afternoon and you sound like you’ve just lost your best friend. However, I know that can’t be the case, ‘cause I’m your best friend.”

Lindsay sighed, wondering why Maddy had to seem so carefree and happy when her own world was falling apart. “Nothing’s wrong. Let me amend that. Nothing’s wrong that hasn’t been wrong for the past two years.”

“Ah, then this has to do with Monte. What happened?”

“Nothing.” That much was true. “Monte and I went out to dinner last night and took a romantic ride in a horse-drawn carriage around Chippewa Square. The magnolias were blooming and Maddy … it was perfect. Until—”

“Until what?”

Lindsay squeezed her eyes shut because even saying the words caused her pain. “Until I made the mistake of mentioning the future. The way he reacted, you’d think that was a dirty word. The next thing I knew, he was angry with me and we were arguing. And then I saw what I should have recognized all along—Monte is never going to marry me.”

At first Maddy said nothing. “Are you breaking it off?”

“Yes … I already did. It’s over, Maddy.”

“You don’t sound absolutely certain of that.”

“No, I mean it this time. Nothing he says is going to convince me to change my mind. I refuse to do this to myself any more.”

“He told you from the very beginning that he wasn’t going to get married again.”

“I know, I know.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t moved in with him. I know that’s what he wants.”

But Lindsay realized now that even if she had, there still wouldn’t have been any commitment, any permanence. She’d actually considered living with him, and felt only relief that she hadn’t gone through with it. His feelings wouldn’t have changed—and her own anguish would’ve been that much worse.

“So you broke it off for good?”

“It’s over, Maddy. It’s time I opened my eyes and faced reality. I refuse to put my life on hold any longer.”

“Way to go!” Then Maddy sobered. “I know it’s hard, but …”

While in high school, they’d frequently had sleepovers and lain awake talking about the men they’d marry. It’d all seemed so simple back then, and here they were, both nearly thirty and not a husband in sight.

“Remember when we were teenagers?” Lindsay couldn’t keep from thinking about all those silly schoolgirl dreams.

Maddy snorted inelegantly. “We were what you’d call romantic idiots.”

Lindsay shrugged wordlessly. It wasn’t as though either of them thought marriage was essential to a woman’s existence. But they both craved the closeness of a good marriage and the joys of having children. Maddy, at least, had an excuse. As a social worker for the state of Georgia, she worked long hours, looking out for the welfare of others. Almost all the overtime she put in was voluntary. Several nights a week, after work, she taught parenting classes for Project Family, a community-based organization. In addition, she mentored several troubled teenagers. Maddy wanted to save the world and she had a heart big enough to do it.

Lindsay had no such ambition. Following her high-school graduation, she’d gone to college at the University of Georgia and roomed with Maddy for four years. Her degree was in French—a lot of good that had done her—with a minor in education. After graduation, she’d drifted from one job to another. The closest she’d come to using her French had been a summer job at the perfume counter in an upscale department store.

There’d been a few opportunities to employ her language skills—teaching conversational French to tourists, translating business documents—but nothing that felt right. Then, almost four years ago, the woman who worked in the accounting office of her uncle Mike’s huge furniture store in Savannah had gotten sick and Lindsay had filled in. When Mrs. Hudson hadn’t returned, Lindsay had taken over permanently.

“One day my prince will come.” Maddy’s voice sang its way through the telephone line. “And so will yours …”

After college, both girls had been twenty-three, and it seemed as if they had all the time in the world to find their soul mates. Now, seven years later, Lindsay had given up counting the number of weddings in which she and Maddy had served as bridesmaids. Ten, possibly more, so many that it had become a joke between them. Periodically Maddy would suggest a joint yard sale just to get rid of all the pastel satin dresses. Maybe their luck would finally change, she’d say with a laugh.

Then, a little more than two years ago, Lindsay’s luck did change. Monte Turner had come to work as a salesman for her uncle. The minute they were introduced, Lindsay had fallen for him. Within a month she’d broken off her relationship with Chuck Endicott, which had never been more than a casual involvement. She hadn’t dated anyone but Monte since.

She’d loved Monte, still did, but a two-year relationship had proved that he didn’t want the same things out of life as she did. He wasn’t interested in children, and the word commitment sent him running for cover. Lindsay had spent her entire life dreaming of both.

“Listen,” Maddy said excitedly. “My boss insisted I take two weeks off. She’s afraid I’m going to burn out if I don’t get away. So, as of next Friday, I’m on vacation.”

“Vacation.” Lindsay couldn’t help being envious.

“Come with me,” Maddy urged. “You need to escape as much as I do.”

Lindsay was tempted.

“If you’re serious about breaking it off with Monte, then make it quick and clean. Dragging it out isn’t going to do either of you any good.”

Maddy was right and Lindsay instinctively knew it. “Where do you want to go? Europe?” Two weeks in Paris sounded heavenly.

“I can’t afford that,” Maddy said. Social workers were notoriously underpaid.

“What about a couple of weeks on St. Simons Island?” As one of the Golden Isles off the Georgia coast, St. Simons was a prime resort location.

“Paris is cheaper, for heaven’s sake!”

Lindsay didn’t exactly have money to spare, either. “Okay, where do you suggest?”

“How about a driving vacation? There’s so many places in this country I’ve never seen.”

That sounded good to Lindsay. Away was away, wherever they ventured. Their destination mattered little to her. Maddy had recently bought a new car and they could share expenses.

“I’ve always wanted to see Yellowstone Park,” Maddy said.

“It’s fabulous,” Lindsay told her.

“You’ve been?”

“As a kid. You know my dad’s from North Dakota—he was born and raised there. We drove out to see the old homestead a couple of times while I was growing up. Yellowstone Park isn’t that far—at least I don’t think it is. I must have been about ten the last time we went.”

“I liked your grandfather,” Maddie said quietly.

Three years ago, soon after the death of Lindsay’s grandmother, Grandpa Snyder had grown disoriented and it was no longer safe for him to live alone. There was no longer any family left in the area, either Colbys—Gina’s people—or Snyders. So Lindsay’s parents had moved her grandfather from Buffalo Valley to a retirement center in Savannah, where he’d remained until his death the previous year. Lindsay had treasured that time with him, brief though it was. Because North Dakota was so far from Georgia and their visits infrequent, she’d barely known her Grandma and Grandpa Snyder.

At first her grandfather had painfully missed the Red River Valley. He’d spoken endlessly of his life there. Lindsay remembered that he’d called the land blessed, but then said living in North Dakota was like wrestling with an angel. You had to fight it before you found the blessing. He described seeing double rainbows after a fierce rainfall, and wild winter snowstorms that turned the sky as gray as gunmetal. He’d talked about the incredible sunsets, the heavens glowing orange and pink and red as far as the eye could see.

“I’d like to stop in Buffalo Valley,” Lindsay said.

“Buffalo Valley?”

“In North Dakota. It’s where my dad was raised.”

“Sure. Let’s do that.”

“My grandparents’ house is still there. It’s never sold.”

“The ol’ homestead?”

“No,” Lindsay said. “My grandparents sold the farm back in the early seventies and moved into town.” Lindsay wasn’t sure why their house hadn’t sold. “From what I understand, the place has been listed with a reputable real estate company all this time.” There had been talk of an estate sale, but Lindsay didn’t know what had come of it.

“Then it’s probably a good idea if we check it out,” Maddy said.

Lindsay knew her uncle wouldn’t mind her taking a vacation, and her family would be pleased when she told them her plans. Despite herself, she wondered what Monte would think.

She didn’t have long to wait.

After four days, during which they’d pretended to ignore each other, Monte showed up at her office. Lindsay had known that eventually he would, and she’d been dreading the conversation all week. Again, her dread was mixed with an odd sense of longing.

“You’re going where?” Monte demanded, obviously annoyed that he’d heard of her plans from someone else.

By now Lindsay was nearly starved for the sight of him and focused her attention on a roguish curl that fell across his forehead.

“On vacation,” she told him as she moved about the compact room. It would be impossible to sit at her desk and not give herself away. She wanted him to react to her news, and at the same time recognized that she shouldn’t.

He closed the door and leaned against it. “Isn’t this a little extreme?”

“What?” She glanced over her shoulder as she slid a file into the four-drawer cabinet.

“I heard you and Maddy are driving across the country. Two women alone—it’s not safe, Lindsay. If you’re angry with me, fine. Be angry. But we both know you’ll get over it soon enough. I already have. We had an argument. We’ve had them in the past and probably will again. Let’s put it behind us and move on. But don’t do anything stupid.”

“I am over it,” she assured him sweetly.

“Lindsay …”

“Our relationship is finished, Monte. I meant what I said.”

“If that’s what you want, fine,” he responded, as if their relationship was of little importance to him. “Why don’t you wait till I can take some time off and I’ll go with you? This vacation with Maddy could be dangerous.”

“We’re capable, confident women. But thank you for your concern.”

He hesitated. Lindsay continued filing.

“I really am sorry about Friday night.” His voice was gentle. “We were both upset.”

“I’m not upset.” She turned her back on him and slipped an invoice into the appropriate file.

“You know how I feel about you.”

He did love her; in her heart of hearts she believed that. She would never have stayed with him this long otherwise. Seeing him now, so handsome, his expression so caring, she found it hard to think of her life without him. “Marry me, Monte,” she pleaded before she could stop herself.

His eyes filled with regret.

As soon as she’d said the words, she wanted to grab them back. She’d done it again, tried to change a situation that couldn’t be changed. Sorrow washed over her and she shook her head hopelessly.

“You’re going without me?” he murmured.

“Without you.” That was the only way she could think clearly. The only way she could teach her heart to forget him.

“When are you leaving?” he asked in a resigned voice.

“Saturday morning.”

Monte buried his hands deep inside his pants pockets. “Two weeks?”

She nodded.

“Will you phone me? At least give me that much. Just a quick call so I’ll know you’re all right.”

Lindsay shook her head again. “Please, don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.” She couldn’t. Talking to him would be too painful, too risky.

“I’ll miss you,” Monte said quietly. He hesitated before he turned and walked out the door.

It was after ten once Gage Sinclair had parked the tractor and finished cleaning his equipment. He’d been in the field from dawn to dusk cutting alfalfa, and he was weary to the bone. Funny how a man could work until he was so damned tired he could fall into bed without removing his boots, yet still experience the exhilaration that comes with pride.

As he walked toward the house, he saw his mother sitting on the porch, her fingers busy with her latest knitting project, probably another sweater for him. Generally she was in bed by this time, since she was up before dawn, feeding and caring for the animals and the garden. With the hottest part of summer almost upon them, it made sense to finish chores in the cool of the morning.

He’d been looking for Kevin, but his younger brother—half brother, actually—was nowhere to be seen. It was too damn hot to be holed up inside the house, and he couldn’t hear the television or what teenagers called music these days.

The boy was an object of frustration to Gage. In another few years, Kevin would be taking over the farm. Naturally Gage would be around to guide and advise him, but the land belonged to Kevin and he would have to assume his responsibilities.

Gage had been fifteen when his mother remarried after ten years as a widow, and eighteen when the boy had been born. John Betts had died when Kevin was five, so Gage had been more father than brother to the seventeen-year-old.

Leta set aside her knitting and stood as he approached the house. Gage realized she’d been waiting for him. “Hassie phoned about the council meeting,” she told him, confirming his suspicion.

Gage made no comment.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“I figure you’re going to tell me.” Gage stepped onto the porch, but tired as he was, resisted sitting down for fear that once he did, he wouldn’t want to get up.

His mother’s brief shrug told him he’d made a wise decision in avoiding the council meeting. If Joshua McKenna wanted to hold an emergency meeting and have him there, he’d need to schedule one when Gage wasn’t in the middle of cutting alfalfa.

“Before you tell me, I had a thought about what to do once school starts,” he said. With Eloise gone, it was unlikely the high school would be in operation. Unrealistic and selfish though it might be, he wished the teacher had held on one last year, until Kevin was finished.

“I know what you’re going to say.”

Not surprised, Gage merely glanced at her. After all, they’d had this conversation before.

“You want me to home-school him,” his mother continued.

“It’s for the best.”

“Fiddlesticks! It’s his senior year. I know Kevin will be taking over the farm, but he’s entitled to a decent high-school education—and some college if we can afford it. I was thinking we could send him to finish high school in Fargo. He could live with your uncle Jim and aunt Mary Lou.”

“We’ll have to see.” He considered his brother spoiled as it was. Letting Kevin spend the next nine months in the city, being coddled by relatives, wasn’t the way to prepare him for his life as a farmer. “You didn’t mention that to him, did you?”

“No.” But she hesitated, as if there was more and whatever it was, he wouldn’t want to hear.

“What else?”

“Kevin took the truck again without telling me where he was going.”

Despite his earlier decision, Gage gave in and sank down on the top porch step. “Should be fairly obvious where he went, don’t you think?”

“Jessica’s,” his mother sighed.

His teenage brother was in love for the first time. Knowing it was his duty, Gage had assumed the unenviable task of explaining a man’s responsibility when it came to protecting a woman from pregnancy—and these days, protecting both of them from disease. Their mother wasn’t likely to hand the teenager a condom. Gage had.

At the time, Kevin had been angry and belligerent, but he’d taken the condom. Gage wasn’t fooled. Hell, it wasn’t that long ago that he’d been seventeen himself.

All summer, whenever he could, Kevin slipped away in order to be with his true love. No doubt, Jessica’s parents were as concerned about the relationship as Gage was. And about the school situation.

If the high school closed for good, Gage suspected most families would ship their teens off to live with relatives. Some would end up being home-schooled, but Gage knew his mother was right. With Kevin, it wouldn’t work. The boy was still too undisciplined to learn without the structure of classes, exams and deadlines. He preferred to spend his time drawing—or with his girlfriend.

“Hassie’s going to contact the teacher’s union about getting a replacement,” Leta told him. “That’s what they decided at the meeting.” His mother had the utmost confidence in the pharmacy owner, her closest friend. Gage’s respect for Hassie was high, but she wasn’t a miracle worker. It was nearly July and school was scheduled to start again toward the end of August. He hated to be a pessimist, but it simply wasn’t going to happen. Not at this late date. No doubt a teacher would be found eventually, but in the meantime they had no choice but to close the school.

“You have to have faith,” Leta told him, as if simply believing would make everything turn out right.

Gage nodded.

“The good Lord knows what He’s doing.”

“If that’s the case, then I wonder if He’s been paying attention to the price of grain?”

“Gage!”

He wasn’t going to argue with his own mother, but if the good Lord had any intention of finding a high-school teacher for Buffalo Valley High School, He’d better start working fast. Besides, if Gage was going to indulge in a bit of wishful thinking, he might as well add his own requirements. Send a teacher, he mused, gazing at the heavens, but not just any teacher. He wanted someone young and pretty and single. Someone smart and loving. Someone who liked kids and animals. Send a woman just for me.

He nearly laughed out loud. Talk about an imagination. He attributed the prayer, if it could be called that, to weariness, and to the fact that his little brother had probably lost his virginity that summer. No, more than that—to the fact that his brother had found someone to love, and he hadn’t.

Two

Sarah Stern waited until her father had fallen asleep in front of the television set, snoring loudly enough to wake the dead. Calla, her teenage daughter, had shut herself in her room and was listening to music. Restless and worried, Sarah phoned Dennis, then paced the kitchen until she saw his headlights in the distance.

Hugging her arms about her waist, she slipped silently out of the house and ran through the open yard. When he saw her, Dennis leaned across the cab and opened the passenger door and Sarah climbed inside. “Thanks for coming,” she whispered.

“Thanks for calling.”

As soon as the door closed and the dome light went out, Sarah was in his arms. Despite everything she’d promised herself, she let her mouth meet his. Their lips were touching, twisting, turning, the kiss greedy. Intense. When they finished, Sarah’s shoulders were heaving.

Dennis leaned his head back and his chest expanded with a deep sigh. “I needed that.”

Sarah didn’t want to admit it, but she had, too.

“What happened at the meeting this afternoon?” she asked. Her father had barely said a word all evening, and Sarah didn’t know what to think. When she’d asked, he’d put her off, as if to suggest she shouldn’t worry about matters that weren’t her concern. Only she was concerned, and rightly so. If a teacher wasn’t hired soon, Sarah would be forced to home-school Calla. If that happened, it was unlikely either of them would survive the school year. At fourteen, her daughter was a handful, and she had a mouth on her that wouldn’t quit.

Like mother, like daughter. Sarah supposed this was what she got for giving her own parents so much grief as a teenager.

“We’re going to find another teacher,” Dennis assured her.

Those were the exact words her father had said. With no explanation, no details.

“Where?” Sarah asked point-blank. “You’re going to find a teacher where?”

Dennis shrugged as they drove away from the house.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“We aren’t going to close the school. I promise.” He pulled off to the side of the road and turned off the engine. He reached for her, weaving his fingers into her hair and dragging her mouth to his. It was like this when they’d been apart for any time, this explosive need that threatened to burst into spontaneous combustion with the first few kisses. His mouth was demanding and persuasive, and Sarah answered his need and echoed it with her own.

Burying her face in his shoulder, she struggled to keep her mind on the reason for her call. “It sounds as if all the council did was argue. Did anyone suggest a concrete plan?”

“No. Well … not exactly. Except Hassie’s going to make some calls.”

“That’s fine, but it’s no guarantee of anything.” Exactly what Sarah had feared. “There happen to be very few available and qualified teachers in this area. Is a teacher supposed to drop from the sky or something?”

Dennis said nothing, then murmured, “Honey, don’t worry.”

Sarah hated it when men, especially men she loved and trusted, placated her like this. It was bad enough that her father didn’t recognize the seriousness of her concerns, but Dennis didn’t seem to appreciate it, either. The future of the entire town was at stake, and for some reason both her father and Dennis seemed to think everything would take care of itself.

“Hassie’s talking to the teacher’s union about getting someone here before school starts.”

Sarah groaned; she couldn’t help it. All anyone seemed to be doing was talking. “Don’t any of you realize school is scheduled to start in six weeks?”

“A teacher will turn up before then.”

Sarah brushed her long hair away from her shoulder, and resisted the urge to bury her face in his shoulder again. “I wish to hell at least one person on the council would be realistic.”

“Your dad—”

“My dad thought everyone would want to play pinochle at my mother’s wake.” In a crisis, Joshua McKenna was useless. That he was president of the town council gave her no confidence whatsoever. “It’s as though this entire community wants to pretend there’s nothing wrong, and that somehow things will get fixed by themselves.”

Dennis said nothing, which wasn’t unusual. He sat with his hands clutching the steering wheel. They’d known each other so long, Sarah could tell what he was thinking. He hated arguments. And evenings when they met, fighting was the last thing either of them was interested in.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered, and ran her palm down the length of his arm. She’d much rather kiss than argue, but she was justifiably worried about Calla’s future. And her own … She didn’t want to leave Buffalo Valley. This was home, and she felt safe here. Safe from the outside world, the doubts and fears. Safe from the mistakes she’d made the one and only time she’d ventured beyond this valley.

Dennis placed his arm around her shoulder and she rested her head against his side. It felt good to be with him, protected. Sheltered. She shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t allow herself the luxury of depending on Dennis, but she was afraid—for Calla and herself. Back when she was eighteen, Sarah couldn’t wait to leave Buffalo Valley and find her own way in the world. She’d moved to Minneapolis and found a job paying minimum wage in a fabric store. A second job as cashier in an all-night service station had helped pay the rent. It was there, late one night, that she’d met Willie Stern.

He was a crazy kind of guy—impulsive, unpredictable—and she’d fallen for him hard. Within a month, they were living together and not much after that Sarah was pregnant. The only person she’d told was her younger brother, and Jeb had driven to Minneapolis and insisted Willie marry her. If it hadn’t been for her brother, Sarah was convinced Willie would have left her high and dry. Perhaps that would have been for the best.

Later, after Calla was born, Willie didn’t want her working. Sarah had learned about quilting from her mother and from her experience in the fabric store. She’d started making quilts and selling them out of their apartment. Willie never did understand why anyone would pay her for them, but he didn’t complain about the extra money. In addition to his part-time job as a shoe salesman, he played back-up guitar in a couple of bar bands—initially part of his appeal for Sarah—and his earnings were erratic.

It didn’t take long for her marriage to fall apart—and for her husband to bring them to the edge of bankruptcy. Sarah saw an attorney when she learned Willie had gotten another woman pregnant. Beaten down, discouraged and with a four-year-old daughter in tow, Sarah had returned to Buffalo Valley, to her childhood home. She still lived with her father. She’d continued to make quilts and was passionate about the work she did. Her love for the creative process of blending textures and color, adapting traditional patterns and forming her own designs, had grown over the years. So had her talent, if not her income.

She rarely heard from Willie these days, and that was how she preferred it.

Dennis ran his index finger down the side of her face and coaxed her mouth open with his. “It’s been a while,” he whispered, his hand cupping her breast.

“I know.” She hadn’t called him in six weeks. It was cruel of her to rely on him, to reach out to him with her concerns, when she didn’t believe they had a future, but Dennis Urlacher was her greatest weakness. As often as she told herself it was necessary to break free, she couldn’t seem to do it.

“Why did you wait so long?” he asked.

Sarah didn’t want to answer and hung her head, wishing now that she’d resisted the urge to call him. He’d come without the least hesitation. Any time, night or day, she could phone and he’d drop whatever he was doing and come to her. It’d been that way for nearly two years.

She was no good for Dennis. There were things he didn’t know about her. Things she couldn’t tell him or anyone, not even her father or Jeb. Things not even Calla knew. She and Dennis should never have become involved, should never have crossed the physical barrier. He was five years younger, and her brother’s best friend.

She’d known for a long time how he felt about her, and discouraged him, rejected his efforts to date her. For a number of years she was able to ignore her own growing attraction to him. Then Jeb had nearly been killed in a farming accident and while her brother lay in a hospital fighting for his life, Dennis had joined the family in their vigil. He’d been there, so strong and confident, so reassuring.

That was when she’d lowered her guard and they’d become lovers. After that, it was impossible to go back. Impossible to pretend she had no feelings for him, and impossible to deny their physical need for each other.

And yet she insisted their relationship remain private. Not because she was ashamed of Dennis, but because she was ashamed of herself.

Sometimes Sarah suspected her father knew about her and Dennis, but if so, he never said a word. Calla was completely oblivious, and for that Sarah was grateful. Jeb had always known, but the subject of Dennis and her had never been discussed.

Dennis wove his hands into her thick, dark hair and angled her face to his. He kissed her again, slow and deep. “Come home with me.” His voice was slurred with longing.

“No …”

He didn’t argue with her, didn’t try to persuade her; instead, he kissed her until she moaned softly and turned more fully in his arms, wrapping herself in his embrace.

After a while Dennis lifted his head and held her gaze. His love shone on her, poured over her like sunshine. It’d been six weeks since they were last together. Six weeks filled with long, lonely nights in which she’d hungered for him and denied them both. Even now, if she insisted, he’d release her and drive away without a word.

Unable to refuse herself or him, she raised her fingertips to the pulse in his neck and smiled softly back. Dennis’s brown eyes darkened with desire.

Their kisses took on a renewed urgency then, and when his tongue found hers, she welcomed it; at the same time she wanted to weep in abject frustration.

It was going to happen, the way it always did, because she was too weak to tell him no. Too weak to deny herself his love. And too weak to tell him the truth.

“Are you going to sleep your life away?” Lindsay chided as she set a plastic cup of steaming coffee on Maddy’s nightstand.

Her friend rolled over and stared up at Lindsay through half-closed eyes. “What time is it?” she mumbled. She sat up slowly and reached for the coffee.

“It’s eight o’clock,” Lindsay told her. Sitting on the bed opposite Maddy’s, she crossed her legs and sipped her own coffee. They’d arrived in Minneapolis the day before, and after finding a motel, had gone straight to the Mall of America. Savannah had its share of shopping malls, but nothing that compared to the four-hundred plus stores and amusement park inside this one. After they’d checked out the stores, they’d screamed their way through a couple of the more spectacular rides, visited Camp Snoopy and bought souvenirs for their nieces and nephews. Their excursion had ended with dinner and a movie, and all without leaving the massive mall.

“It’s eight already? Can’t be,” Maddy protested.

“Sure is.” Lindsay had always liked mornings—even as a teenager. It was a trait she didn’t share with her best friend. Maddy woke up one brain cell at a time, as her mother always said. But she had far more energy in the evenings than Lindsay did. Maybe it was in their genes, she thought, since she was descended from farmers—on her dad’s side, anyway—and Maddy from city folk.

“Will we make Buffalo Valley today?” Maddy asked, finally tossing aside the bedspread and heading toward the bathroom.

“We will if you get a move on.” Her own bags were not only packed but loaded in the car. She’d awakened at six and sat out in the morning sunshine by the motel pool, drinking a first cup of coffee and mulling over the things her grandfather had told her about North Dakota and Buffalo Valley. When he’d arrived in Savannah, he’d been confused and unhappy. In time, he’d adjusted somewhat but it seemed to help to talk about home, and Lindsay had been a willing listener.

Her grandfather had spoken endlessly of fertile land and abundant crops, showed her photographs of a land with a huge expanse of sky above it and fields that stretched to the far horizon. What Lindsay remembered most were his stories of blizzards and his descriptions of the wind. He’d told her more than once that nowhere else in the lower forty-eight states did the wind blow as strong or as fierce as it did in the Dakotas.

He’d said it wasn’t uncommon for the wind to roar at forty miles an hour for a day or longer, and that it could turn soggy ground into dust in a matter of hours. Lindsay didn’t understand what could make a person stay in such a place, but her grandfather had loved his home as intensely as he had his family.

While Maddy dressed, Lindsay studied the maps. By her calculations, they should arrive in Buffalo Valley by late afternoon. From Minneapolis they’d drive toward Fargo, and take Highway 29 to Grand Forks, get onto Highway 2 and go as far as Devils Lake, then head north from there.

As she refolded the maps, she glanced at the telephone.

“Don’t you dare!” Maddy said, framed in the bathroom doorway, the handle of her toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.

“What?”

“You were thinking of calling Monte.”

Lindsay didn’t admit or deny it, but that was exactly what she’d had in mind. Cutting him out of her life was a hundred times more difficult than she’d imagined it would be. He’d been an important part of her everyday life, and she felt lost without him. If it was this difficult now, she could only imagine how much harder it would be once she returned to Savannah.

“You ready to leave?” Maddy asked, as if Lindsay had been the one holding them up.

“Ready.” While Lindsay wore leggings and an oversized T-shirt, Maddy had dressed in a bright yellow shorts outfit that emphasized her long legs and sleek build. They’d often been mistaken for sisters because Lindsay was tall and blond, too.

By eight-thirty they were on the road, music blaring. They sang along—to Janis Joplin, the Stones, early Dylan. Old songs but good ones. And good traveling music.

They ate a late lunch outside Grand Forks, then made their way west to Devils Lake. As far as Lindsay could tell, they were about an hour from Buffalo Valley. The minute they drove north toward her father’s boyhood home, Lindsay grew quiet. All she could see from the road, in either direction, was field after field of wheat, moving with the wind, rippling like waves on the sea.

The temperature had soared; it was close to a hundred degrees, and the Bronco’s air-conditioning system blowing at full speed couldn’t keep the heat completely at bay. Lindsay didn’t mind; in fact, she loved it. Loved the bright intensity of the sun. Loved the sight of wheat fields and this land where her grandparents had forged a good life. She was conscious of gazing upon her own heritage, and with it came a keen sense—an intuition, almost—that North Dakota would help her discover the woman she really was.

“Dad said we should check in with Hassie Knight when we reach town,” Lindsay mentioned. A John Mellencamp CD ended, and they turned off the music.

“Hassie,” Maddy repeated. “What an unusual name.”

Lindsay didn’t remember meeting Hassie, but that wasn’t so odd, since the last time she’d visited Buffalo Valley she’d only been ten. “She runs the town’s pharmacy and is apparently something of an institution,” Lindsay told her. “The pharmacy’s the old-fashioned kind with a soda fountain.”

“I haven’t seen one of those in years,” Maddy said.

“Me, either.” Lindsay’s comment was absentminded, her thoughts suddenly distracted by Monte and their impasse. “Hassie has the key to my grandparents’ house. I told Dad I’d check it out while we’re here.”

They rode in silence, until Maddy said, “You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

Lindsay stared out the window at the wheat fields. “Yes. I’m worried about what’ll happen once I get home. If I was at the store now, he’d be making excuses to come into accounting, chipping away at my resolve, and before I knew it, everything would be back the way it was.”

Maddy sighed. “You’ve heard me say this before, so bear with me. Either you accept the fact that Monte’s never going to marry you and go on as you were or you break off the relationship entirely. I know you have broken up with him, but I also know you want to take him back. Don’t. Because you’ll never get what you need from him.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Lindsay protested.

“It is simple,” Maddy countered, “but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“How can I avoid him?” Lindsay cried out in frustration. “We work in the same place. It’s impossible not to see him every day.” It wasn’t likely her uncle would fire his best salesman over what he considered a lovers’ spat. Nor would she want him to. Still, it made for an uncomfortable situation all around. Naturally she could look for work elsewhere, but she enjoyed her job and there were benefits in working for her uncle that she didn’t want to relinquish.

“That isn’t the real problem though, is it?” Maddy asked.

Briefly Lindsay closed her eyes. “No. I … I’ve broken up with Monte once before—a year and a half ago, remember?—and I’m afraid the same thing’s going to happen again. I told myself it was over and I meant it. I insisted that nothing he could say or do, short of arriving with a wedding license, would make me change my mind.”

“He wore you down then and you’re afraid he’ll do it again.”

Lindsay nodded. Monte had pleaded with her, sent her cards, gifts, flowers, courted her. He wanted to maintain their relationship, but he wanted it on his terms. And he liked things just the way they’d always been. No change and no commitment. No formality and no promises.

“What’s wrong with me, Maddy?” Lindsay wailed. “Am I really so weak?”

“No.” Maddy’s response was emphatic.

“Then why am I stuck in a relationship that makes me this miserable?”

Maddy studied the road. “I’m a social worker, not a counselor, but I’m also your friend. It’s like I said, either you accept what Monte’s willing to offer, or you get out of the relationship. And stay out.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she murmured. Monte had already made it clear. He didn’t intend to lose her, nor would he give her what she wanted. “He genuinely cares about me, and he knows I care for him, too.”

“I realize all that,” Maddy concurred, “but he’s using you. You’re convenient, fun and you love him. He needs that. He needs you.”

“But not enough to marry me and have children with me.” She continually had to remind herself of that. She envied her sisters their families. Whenever she spent time with her nieces and nephews, she came away with a hollow feeling deep inside. A longing for children of her own.

Maddy’s look was sympathetic.

“I’m watching the best years of my life go down the drain,” Lindsay said. “I want children. I really do.” That was the crux of the matter. With her thirtieth birthday fast approaching, Lindsay was beginning to feel a sense of urgency, a desire to anchor her life with a husband and family.

“Well, then, the only way you’ll ever be free of him is to stick to your guns. You’ve broken it off. Don’t change your mind, and don’t let him change it for you.”

They drove in silence for ten or fifteen minutes, each caught up in her own thoughts. The plains continued, mile after mile of flat golden land, with an occasional farmhouse in the distance. Lindsay remembered her grandfather telling her that what he missed most about life on the farm was the solitude. And the silence. It was all the people crowding in around him at the retirement center that had made the adjustment so difficult. She hadn’t really understood what he’d meant until now, as she gazed at these acres of wheat, rippling lightly in the hot wind. They hadn’t seen another car in some time and hadn’t yet seen anyone in the fields.

As they approached Buffalo Valley, Lindsay noted with surprise that the highway didn’t go through town anymore, the way it had in years past. A sign from the main thoroughfare pointed in the direction of Buffalo Valley, which was located off the road. Maddy slowed the car and made the right-hand turn.

Before Lindsay left Savannah, her parents had warned her that Buffalo Valley had changed, but nothing could have prepared her for the shock.

“My goodness,” she whispered as they drove down the main street. There were potholes in the road and the pavement was badly cracked. A number of the stores were boarded up. The large plastic sign for the catalog store was torn, and half of it was missing. The windows were smudged and dirty. The movie theater, with its sign advertising twenty-five cent popcorn, had obviously been vandalized. At the end of the road, the gas station with its old-fashioned rounded pumps looked like it belonged on a postcard from the 1950s. It appeared to be in use; they’d seen another one on their way into town, and that was boarded up.

The most prominent business was Buffalo Bob’s 3 OF A KIND Bar & Grill & Hotel.

“At least there’s a place we can spend the night,” Maddy said with what sounded like relief.

The only brick building in town was the bank, which still seemed to be in operation. The grocery was next to that, and something called the “Old Country Store,” which sold antiques and such. A sign in the window boasted that there wasn’t anything Joshua McKenna couldn’t repair.

“That must be the pharmacy,” Maddy said as she parked the Bronco on the side of the street. Compared to the other businesses, the drugstore looked clean and fresh. Painted white, it stood out like a beacon in the center of town. Two large pots of flowering red geraniums bloomed by the door.

Knight’s Pharmacy was exactly as her dad had recounted, with matching white benches below the large windows. The only thing that had faded was the semicircle of gold lettering on the glass. A large sign propped against the corner of one window read TEACHER WANTED.

“I don’t know about you,” Lindsay said, “but I could use a nice tall vanilla ice-cream soda.”

“I could use something,” Maddy agreed, and followed her inside.

Despite its bare wooden floors and old-fashioned hanging lights, the store was a full-service pharmacy selling a little of everything—shampoo and toiletries, postcards and souvenirs, boxed candy, hardware items and such novelties as colorful glass angels with little suction cups to place in a window.

“Can I help you?” an older woman called from the back of the store. The actual pharmacy was in the rear, built up six or eight inches so the proprietor could keep an eye on anyone who entered.

“Hassie Knight?” Lindsay asked the old woman, who was tall and spare, dressed in a cotton shirtwaist dress. Her wiry silver hair was neatly tucked behind her ears.

The woman nodded. “Who might you be?”

“Lindsay Snyder …”

“Gina’s granddaughter!”

Hassie hurried out from behind the counter and held out her arms as if greeting long-lost family. “Your father phoned and told me you were planning to drop by. My, oh my, let me take a good look at you.”

Before Lindsay could object, she was wrapped in a warm embrace. “This is my friend Maddy …”

“Pleased to meet you, Maddy.” Hassie hugged her, too.

“Oh, my, it’s certainly good to see you. Set yourself down at the counter and let me make you the best soda in two hundred miles.” She led them to the far side of the pharmacy. Not needing a second invitation, Lindsay and Maddy slid onto the stools. The mahogany counter was polished to a fine sheen. Lindsay had never seen another counter like it—except in old movies.

“I have the key to the house, but I hope you’re not planning to spend the night there,” Hassie said as she scooped vanilla ice cream into tall, narrow glasses.

“Oh, no. Dad told me we’d need to find other accommodation.”

“Buffalo Bob will fix you up,” Hassie assured them both. “Now, don’t let his appearance give you any worry. He’s gentle as can be.”

Lindsay and Maddy shared a suspicious glance.

Hassie set the two soda glasses on the counter. “Drink up,” she urged, giving them each a glass of ice water, as well.

“How many people live in Buffalo Valley these days?” Maddy asked, between long sips.

Hassie hesitated for a moment. “Thirty years ago we had around five hundred or so, counting the farmers and their families. Saturday evenings, this town was bustling.”

“And now?”

Hassie shrugged. “Less than half that, I’d guess. Closer to two hundred would be more like it. The last twenty years have been hard on farmers. Real hard.”

Lindsay nodded. “I see you’re looking for a teacher,” she said next, motioning toward the sign in the window.

Hassie perked up right away. “Either of you interested?”

“Sorry,” Maddy said, raising one hand. “I’ve already got a job.”

“What’s it pay?” Lindsay didn’t know why she bothered to ask. Curiosity, she supposed. Her dad had told her the town was dying and she shouldn’t expect much. Nevertheless, she’d been surprised when they arrived; Buffalo Valley was a sad little town not unlike several others they’d passed that day, but her impressions of it, based on twenty-year-old memories, were still so vivid. Reality hadn’t quite penetrated yet or displaced the earlier image that lived in her mind. At one time, Buffalo Valley had been the picture of small-town America, with a flag flying high above the post office and banners across Main Street. The summer her family had come to visit, Lindsay remembered that the high school had won the state football championship and proudly announced it with a huge banner strung between the pharmacy and the grocery store across the street.

“You applying for the job?” Excitement flashed in Hassie’s blue eyes.

“No, no.” Lindsay laughed and shook her head.

“We’re in real need of a high-school teacher,” the pharmacist said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “As you might’ve noticed, we’ve fallen upon hard times here.”

Lindsay had noticed.

“You have a minor in education, don’t you?” Maddy reminded her.

Lindsay glared at her friend.

“We need a teacher in the worst way.” Hassie gazed at her, eyes bright with hope.

Move to Buffalo Valley? Her? As a teacher? It was enough to make Lindsay choke on her drink.

Three

Gage Sinclair had spent the morning riding the field cultivator down the long rows of maturing corn. He had nearly a thousand acres planted in corn, two hundred less than the previous year. If the weather held, he could expect to clear a hundred bushels per acre, but if there was one thing he’d learned in his years of farming, it was not to count his bushels before the harvest.

His mother was waiting for him when he parked the cultivator and climbed down. Days like this he had a thirst that wouldn’t quit. He’d taken a half gallon of iced tea with him, but that had disappeared quickly.

“Lunch is ready,” she called when she saw him.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he called back, looking around for his half brother.

Gage hadn’t seen Kevin all morning, and he suspected the boy had stolen away to be with Jessica again.

Gage washed up, then walked into the kitchen, inhaling the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread. His mother routinely baked bread and cinnamon rolls on Saturday mornings.

“Where’s Kevin?” he asked, pulling out a chair.

Leta glanced up, surprised. “I thought he was with you.”

“I told him to change the oil in the pick-up when he finished his chores,” he said between enormous bites of his sandwich. It’d been eight hours since he’d last eaten and he felt hollow inside. It was going to take more than a couple of roasted chicken sandwiches to fill him up.

“He did that a couple of hours ago.” Leta turned her back to him and busied herself with something he couldn’t see, but Gage wasn’t fooled.

“You talked to anyone in town lately?” he asked. He didn’t need to elaborate; they both knew he was referring to the crisis with the school.

“No,” Leta mumbled. “Don’t worry, Gage. Everything will work out.”

Her optimism and faith had become an irritation to him, although he should be accustomed to both by now. Hassie Knight wasn’t any better. They seemed to believe that, somehow or other, a new teacher would be found to replace Eloise Patten. As if hiring a replacement was a simple, everyday occurrence. Gage knew it wasn’t going to happen. “Mom, it would be doing Kevin a disservice to send him away to finish high school. It’s time he accepted responsibility for the farm.”

“I agree.”

“Then you’ll consider letting him home-school?” Gage was well aware of all the problems with that solution. He knew it wasn’t ideal, especially for Kevin. But it was the best he’d come up with.

His mother sighed. “We’ve already gone over this countless times, and my position hasn’t changed.”

“You can’t keep ignoring the realties.” Gage wolfed down the second sandwich before the discussion ruined his appetite. Moving Kevin in with his aunt and uncle wasn’t the right solution. He should be learning more about the everyday operation of the farm. True, the boy deserved a decent education, and Gage was willing to see him through high school—some college, if possible—but this land technically belonged to Kevin, not Gage. Unfortunately, his half brother had some difficult lessons to learn. The land didn’t hold his heart, not the way it should. At this point in his life, Kevin thought about only two things: Jessica and his sketchbook. He did what was asked of him, but with little pride and less joy.

Gage, on the other hand, couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Farming was his life and like generations before him, he felt most alive when his eyes were filled with grit, his lips chapped and his neck red with sunburn. The land sustained his soul. If he never left North Dakota again, it would suit him just fine. He knew plenty of farmers who’d lived their entire lives without ever traveling outside the state. Whether you raised crops or livestock, the land meant responsibility, day in, day out. A man didn’t leave behind what was most important to him.

“Kevin’s probably drawing up in the hayloft,” Leta said.

“Not in this heat.” Drawing was all well and good, but it wasn’t serious, not for them. Not like farming. But Gage couldn’t force Kevin to care about something he obviously didn’t. He lived with the hope that eventually the boy would appreciate the rhythm of life played out each year on the farm. That he’d learn to see the particular beauty that was so much a part of his inheritance.

“I need to drive into town this afternoon,” his mother told him when he’d finished lunch. She hesitated, then added, “You could use a haircut.”

Gage ran his hand through his hair, knowing she was right. Cutting hair wasn’t something she especially liked; she’d do it, but preferred if he had Hassie take a pair of scissors to his thick head.

“I’ve got things to do.”

“Whatever it is can wait.”

His mother didn’t disagree with him often. Suggesting he drive her into town was her way of telling him he’d been working too many hours, and it was time for a break.

“Fine.” She was generally right about matters such as this, and he’d learned to heed her wisdom.

She patted him on the shoulder as she walked into the bedroom to gather her things.

Grumbling under his breath, Gage washed, changed his shirt and dragged a brush through his hair. It was nearly a month since he’d last been to town, not that there was much to see these days. He’d have Hassie cut his hair, if she had time, and then share a beer or two and some conversation with whoever was over at Buffalo Bob’s.

“I left a note for Kevin,” his mother told him when he joined her. She had a basket of eggs over her arm, her purse and a vase full of flowers. The eggs and flowers were for Hassie in exchange for the haircut. Like him, Leta never expected anything without payment. As a farmer, Gage often skimped on luxuries, but he’d never run short on pride.

Gage turned on the car radio as he drove into Buffalo Valley. KFGO, “the Mighty 790” AM radio station in Fargo, played country music, which Gage and Leta both enjoyed. Working out in the fields, Gage rarely listened to the radio. He didn’t need music when he could hear a melody in the wind. Besides, the radio distracted him. The time he spent on the tractor helped him sort out the answers to life, answers he found in silence.

It was a thirty-minute ride into town.

“You recognize that car?” His mother motioned toward the new Bronco parked in front of the pharmacy.

“Can’t say I do.” A new car would have been cause for celebration in Buffalo Valley. The only person he could think of with enough money to squander on a car would be Heath Quantrill, but the banker wasn’t likely to park outside Hassie’s.

“My!” his mother exclaimed, “look how clean it is.”

Most folks didn’t bother to wash their vehicles more than once or twice a year, if that. No need to show off the rust. In any case, it was a waste of time, since a vehicle parked near a barn would be caked in mud again as soon as it was driven out of the yard.

Gage parked a few spaces away, not wanting to emphasize the contrast between his battered green truck and the shiny new Bronco. His diesel truck had turned over two hundred thousand miles last month. John had bought it shortly before Kevin was born, Gage remembered. It’d been used ever since.

Gage had hoped to replace it last autumn, but grain prices had been down, just like the year before and the year before that. He’d eke another six or eight months out of this old truck. He’d been holding on for the past ten years, so one more wasn’t going to make much difference. Thus far, whatever had failed he’d been able to repair, but that wasn’t always going to be the case.

Gage could hear Hassie talking up a storm even before they entered the pharmacy. One glance at the two women sitting at the soda fountain told him they were from the city. Some Southern city, he guessed, judging by the slight—and very attractive—drawl. Atlanta? New Orleans? Their skin was pale as winter wheat, and their clothes looked like they came out of a fashion magazine. Gage didn’t know anyone from Buffalo Valley who dressed in such bright colors. Both were young and pretty, and he couldn’t imagine what would bring them to Buffalo Valley.

“Leta … Gage.” Hassie greeted them both with enthusiastic fondness. “Come meet Lindsay Snyder and her friend Maddy Washburn. They’re visiting here from Savannah—imagine that! Lindsay is Anton and Gina’s granddaughter.”

Savannah.Yep, he’d guessed right. Close enough, anyway. Gage touched the rim of his cap and nodded in their direction. His mother reacted with characteristic pleasure and started chatting about old times and what a dear person Gina Snyder had been.

Seeing that he’d walked in on a hen party, Gage was eager to make his escape. He would have left immediately if not for Lindsay Snyder. He’d given her a perfunctory glance but noticed the way her gaze stayed on him. Their eyes met again and held. Seemingly embarrassed, she offered him a small, apologetic smile and looked away.

Gage quickly excused himself. “I’ll be over at Buffalo Bob’s,” he said as he hurried out the door. Getting his hair cut could wait; his mother could do it that night if it truly bothered her.

“Tell Bob he’s going to have guests tonight,” Hassie shouted after him, looking pleased with herself.

Gage didn’t think the two visitors would be eager to linger in this town, but he’d pass the word on to Buffalo Bob and leave it at that.

Brandon Wyatt sat in the bar off the restaurant in the 3 OF A KIND, and Gage climbed onto the stool next to his friend and neighbor. The place was dim and mercifully cool, and he could hear Garth Brooks in the background.

“Get you a beer?” Buffalo Bob asked him.

Gage nodded. Bob—ex-biker and now the owner of this establishment—was the only man Gage knew who wore his hair in a ponytail. For that matter, he wore a black leather vest year-round. Still had a Harley, too.

“Howdy, neighbor,” Gage said to Brandon.

Brandon glanced over at him. “Good to see you.”

“You, too,” Gage said. He’d known Brandon his entire life. Their properties adjoined each other and they’d shared just about everything farmers do over the years.

“How’re Joanie and the kids?” Gage asked, raising the cold beer bottle to his lips. He hadn’t seen Brandon for some time. Joanie used to stop at the farmhouse once a week or so, but come to think of it, Gage hadn’t seen her in a while, either.

“Everyone’s fine.”

It was the clipped way Brandon said it that alerted Gage to trouble. He stared at his friend and wondered if he should ask. He decided against it. Brandon would come to him if he wanted advice, which he seldom did. That wasn’t how they did things. They were independent men who mostly kept their own counsel. As far as friends went, Brandon was about the closest one Gage had, but they rarely spoke, rarely spent time together. If he needed anything, though, he could count on Brandon, just like his neighbor could count on him.

They’d gotten together more often before Brandon married Joanie, but that had been eight or nine years ago. Brandon had gone to Fargo to buy a new tractor and the following weekend had found an excuse to return to the city. Soon he was spending as much time there as he was on his own farm. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out there was a woman involved. Within the year, Joanie and Brandon were married. A daughter and son followed soon after, a little more than two years apart. They were eight and six if he remembered right. Cute kids.

Gage didn’t know Joanie all that well, but from remarks his mother let drop, he suspected she hadn’t made the transition to farm life as easily as the couple had hoped. Life on a North Dakota farm could get desperately lonely for women, especially in the winter months when it wasn’t unheard-of to go two or three weeks without even leaving the house. Women, especially women not born to this life, seemed to think that sounded romantic until they experienced it themselves.

Gage’s mind wandered away from Brandon and Joanie to the two women visiting at Hassie’s. Both seemed vibrant and full of energy. He’d have to be a dead man not to notice. Over the years, Gage had given some thought to marriage but time and opportunity had worked against him. It wasn’t like single women were exactly plentiful around here.

He had to be realistic, and his chances of meeting someone in Buffalo Valley were slim to none. All that meant was that he had to venture farther afield. He had to be realistic in other ways, too. He wasn’t going to appear on any of those he-man calendars, but he was fairly good-looking. He possessed a strong work ethic and had a powerful sense of what was important. True, he was responsible for his mother and Kevin, but if he did find a woman willing to marry him, he’d take the necessary steps to care for their needs and see to his own and his wife’s, as well.

As far as he knew, there were only three eligible women in the vicinity and he’d known them his entire life. Sarah Stern—used to be McKenna—was one, but she had something going with Dennis Urlacher and that put her off-limits. Margaret Clemens was the second possibility. She was a rancher, and she worked the land with her father. The Clemens family had one of the most prosperous herds in the state on their Triple C spread.

Margaret was complicated, though. She might be a woman, but she’d never dressed or acted like one. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she cursed and chewed right along with the hired hands.

The last was Rachel Fischer, a widow with a ten-year-old son. He’d given some serious thought to asking her out, but while he liked her—admired her, even—he didn’t feel any strong attraction toward her. Of the three women, he liked Rachel best and respected her for staying in Buffalo Valley when her parents had closed down their restaurant and moved south. Her husband had died of leukemia when the boy was about six. Her parents had helped as much as they could, but money had been tight and gotten tighter. Gage knew she’d been tempted to leave with them, but for the sake of her son, she’d remained in town, thinking he’d had enough trauma and disruption in his young life without being uprooted from everything familiar. A decision that took courage.

The fact was, not one of those women really appealed to him physically, and if he was going to all the effort of seeking one out, he should feel something.

He believed that when he did meet the right woman he’d know, but at thirty-five, Gage suspected it might be too late.

“Who’s that over at Hassie’s?” Buffalo Bob asked. He’d tossed a dish towel over his shoulder and eyed the Bronco parked across the street.

“Anton and Gina Snyder’s granddaughter. She’s in town with a friend,” Gage told him. “They used to live here, the Snyders. Hassie seems to think the ladies’ll put up here for the night.”

That information cheered Buffalo Bob. “Great, I could use the business.”

Gage suspected they’d be among the few guests the hotel had all summer. “She going to be the new teacher?” Buffalo Bob asked next.

The thought hadn’t occurred to Gage. “I doubt it.”

With a morose and uncommunicative Brandon Wyatt sitting next to him, Gage finished off his beer and ordered a second. Again and again, his gaze was drawn across the street.

A couple of times he thought he heard the sound of women’s laughter coming from Hassie’s, but he could have imagined it. His imagination seemed to have shifted into overdrive, and his head was filled with thoughts of Lindsay Snyder. He couldn’t recall the other woman’s name now.

Lindsay’s blue eyes had sparkled with laughter and during those few seconds they’d stared at each other, he could almost feel the joy bubbling just beneath the surface. Within those few seconds he’d recognized that she was someone he’d like to know better. But there was no reason for her to stay; by morning she’d be back on the road.

A deep loneliness came over him. Gage had experienced it before; and life had taught him that, given time, it would pass. Life had taught him something else, too. The land demanded a farmer’s first allegiance and wouldn’t lightly accept his sharing that love and loyalty with another. This was a lesson Brandon was only now beginning to understand, and Gage intended to learn from his neighbor’s mistakes.

Joanie Wyatt sat alone in the darkened room. She hadn’t meant to fight with her husband. The truth was, she’d been hoping for a romantic afternoon—just the two of them. The grandfather clock chimed midnight, the sound as bleak as her thoughts. It was useless to try to sleep. Not that their disagreement seemed to bother Brandon, who’d been asleep for nearly two hours.

She’d asked him to come into town with her. It was a small thing, but they had almost no time alone these days. Sage and Stevie were attending Billy Nobel’s birthday party in Bellmont, which gave them a rare free afternoon. She’d been the one to suggest they buy groceries and then stop at Buffalo Bob’s for a beer.

All either of them did these days was work. Joanie had planted a huge, ambitious garden, and found herself spending hours every day looking after it. What had started as an experiment, a pleasure, had developed over the years into a necessity and now a chore. It made sense to raise as much of their own food as possible, seeing that they had the land. Then there was Princess to milk and chickens to feed and in the past year they’d added pigs. Thankfully Brandon did the butchering, but the care of the animals had become part of her duties.

The animals tied them to the farm, so it was unusual to get away for more than a few hours. In the last four or five years, Joanie had come to feel isolated, to doubt her own sanity and lately her femininity, her attractiveness. It’d been weeks since they’d last made love, weeks since they’d done anything but fall into bed at the end of the day, too exhausted to even kiss. Whatever romance had existed in their marriage now seemed dead.

Their argument that afternoon had started out as an innocent conversation on the drive into town, a mere mention of the washing machine, which was about to give up the ghost.

“We can’t afford a new one,” Brandon had snapped.

Her mistake, Joanie realized, was mentioning the two-hundred-thousand-dollar combine Brandon had purchased two years earlier. They couldn’t afford an eight-hundred-dollar washing machine, but forking over six figures for a combine was done without blinking twice.

That remark had sent their afternoon on a downward spiral. By the time they reached town, she’d walked over to Hansen’s Grocery on her own while Brandon headed for Buffalo Bob’s. He’d had three beers before she joined him.

Despite his sullen demeanor, Joanie had tried to make the best of the situation. Hoping to put the argument behind them, she’d asked Buffalo Bob about the karaoke machine he’d recently purchased. He’d been eager to have someone try it out and so, with everyone watching, Joanie had gotten up to sing an old Beatles song. Her singing voice was halfway decent and she’d earned a hearty round of applause. Soon others, their inhibitions no doubt loosened by several beers, were taking their turns, and Buffalo Bob had thanked her for getting things rolling.

Then, on the drive home, Brandon had accused her of flirting.

“With whom?” she’d cried.

He’d been silent for a long moment before he said, “Buffalo Bob.”

The idea was ludicrous and she didn’t know whether to laugh or act insulted. Instead of doing either, she said nothing. When they got home, Brandon had stormed off to the barn and she’d left almost immediately to pick up the kids.

Her appetite was dismal and the kids were filled up on excitement and birthday cake, so she’d just made a chef’s salad for dinner. Brandon had taken one look at it and claimed he wasn’t hungry. Joanie had sat at the dinner table alone with her children.

“Is Daddy mad?” Sage asked. Her daughter had always been sensitive to her parents’ moods.

“Of course not, sweetheart,” she’d assured her, wanting to lay the eight-year-old’s fears to rest.

“How come he isn’t eating dinner with us?”

“Well, because …” Joanie groped for a believable excuse. “Because we went into town while you were at the birthday party and had a little party of our own.”

The excuse satisfied their son, who’d shown only minor concern over Brandon’s absence from the dinner table, but Sage didn’t look convinced. “Maybe I should make Daddy a sandwich and take it out to him.”

“If he wants something to eat, he’ll say so,” Joanie insisted. She wasn’t going to pander to Brandon’s moods, and she wasn’t about to let their daughter fall into that trap, either. Joanie felt she’d put together a perfectly good salad, and if he wanted something else, he could damn well cook it himself.

After dinner, the kids watched a favorite Disney video. By nine they were ready for bed, tired out from the day’s activity. Joanie tucked them in, listened to their prayers and came back downstairs.

Brandon sat in front of the television. His gaze didn’t waver from the screen when she entered the room. The show was a rerun of Walker, Texas Ranger and she didn’t want to waste her evening sitting with an embittered husband watching a show she’d already seen.

Without a word she’d set up her sewing machine on the kitchen table, intent on making her daughter a new dress for church. It was a hundred-mile round trip to the closest church. A priest came to Buffalo once every two weeks to say Mass, but Joanie wasn’t Catholic. Brandon had stopped attending services with her three years earlier, so she made the long drive alone with the kids. Her husband had given up doing a lot of the things she considered important, another sign of the growing discontent in their marriage.

As she worked, Joanie had brooded, alternating between resentment and despair. She deftly ran the flowery fabric beneath the frantic needle, but the task didn’t calm her, the way it usually did. This sewing machine had once belonged to her mother. Joanie had inherited it when her mother purchased a newer model, but God help her if she were to hint at buying a new sewing machine. Look what had happened when she’d asked about a washer.

At ten, Brandon had wandered into the kitchen, glanced around, said nothing, then gone up to bed. It didn’t take Joanie long to follow. She waited until the room was dark before she climbed beneath the sheets.

Brandon lay next to her, as cold and silent as a corpse.

“I’m sorry about this afternoon,” she whispered, staring up at the ceiling.

He didn’t say anything for long minutes, then finally, “Me, too.”

“What’s happening to us?” she asked, her heart breaking. At one time they’d been so much in love. Neither of them would have allowed anything—a disagreement, a misunderstanding—to come between them. But these days they almost seemed to invent excuses to argue.

Their courtship had been wildly romantic, but even then her mother had seen problems looming. When Joanie announced that she wanted to marry Brandon, her parents had advised against it. As a result, Brandon had never gotten on well with her family. Her parents didn’t dislike him, but he chose to believe otherwise. If she wanted to spend holidays with her mother and father, she and the children went alone.

“I guess your parents were right,” he mumbled in the dark.

“What do you mean by that?” she demanded, angered by the comment. She wanted to end this tension, not heighten it. Brandon couldn’t seem to let their disagreement drop, and it annoyed her.

“You’d have done better marrying Stan Simmons, like your mother wanted. He could buy you ten washing machines if you asked. Hell, he’d take them off the showroom floor and not miss a single one.”

“I wasn’t in love with him. As it happens, I fell in love with you. As for those washing machines, I don’t need ten. Five will do.” She expected Brandon would chuckle, roll over and hug her, but he didn’t. “That was a joke,” she said.

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you laugh?”

Brandon sighed. “The answer should be obvious.”

“Apparently not.”

“Okay, if I have to say it, I will. I didn’t happen to find your little joke all that amusing.”

Joanie swallowed a groan, wondering why she even tried. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah—and not only that, I drive a two-hundred-thousand-dollar combine.” He abruptly rolled onto his side and jerked the covers over his shoulder.

Joanie waited until she was sure he’d fallen asleep before she slipped out of the bedroom and walked into the living room. For two hours she sat alone in the dark and listened to the chime of the grandfather clock every fifteen minutes. Eleven. Quarter after eleven. Eleven-thirty. This was her life, she told herself. Her life that was disappearing.

Joanie had gone into this marriage because she loved Brandon. It had seemed so right, despite her parents’ concerns. Brandon was responsible and hardworking, kind, gentle …

They’d met, of all places, at a theater. She’d gone with a girlfriend who’d deserted her when she’d run into her latest heartthrob. Joanie had been about to leave when she saw Brandon and liked what she saw. So she’d purchased a ticket, anyway, and hoped against hope that he was attending the same movie.

He was, and they’d sat not far from each other. Only later did he confess that he’d purchased the ticket for a different movie, but had followed her, hoping for the opportunity to get to know her. Joanie had gone from feeling flattered to infatuated all in one evening.

After the movie, they’d had coffee together and talked for hours. They saw each other again the next weekend, and by then she’d broken up with Stan Simmons, much to her parents’ disappointment. Stan’s father owned a huge appliance store that did a lot of advertising; Stan-the-Man’s television ads were often humorous, and he’d become a local celebrity. Stan Jr. was in line to take over the family business. Marrying him would have guaranteed her a life free of financial worries. Instead, Joanie had followed her heart. Not once had she regretted that decision.

She still didn’t regret it—unhappy though she was right now. Despite their problems, Joanie deeply loved her husband. What she had to do was find a way to recapture what they’d lost. She couldn’t do it all on her own, though; Brandon had to want it, too.

“Joanie?” Her husband stood silhouetted in the dim moonlight. “What are you doing up?”

“I … I couldn’t sleep.”

“Because of what I said?”

She nodded.

“Let’s not fight, baby.”

“I don’t want to, either,” she whispered.

He held his arms open to her and she went to him, savoring the feel of his embrace. “I woke up and found you gone,” he murmured against her hair. Then with a deep, shuddering sigh, he told her, “We’ll find a way to buy you that new washer. The corn’s good this year. Come harvest, we’ll buy you a washer—and a dryer, too. I promise.”

“It’s all right. I can make do for a while. Joshua can keep the washer going for me. And the dryer should last until next year.”

Her husband kissed the top of her head and his lips lingered there, giving Joanie the impression that he was either immersed in thought or still half-asleep. “Come to bed,” he urged a moment later. He slid his arm around her waist and led her back to their bedroom. She moved into his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder. He didn’t reach for her to make love, and she didn’t indicate that she was interested. The physical aspect of their marriage had always been strong—except for the past few months. When all else failed, this was an area where communication had remained healthy. But it’d been a month since the last time he’d wanted her … and a month, more than a month, since she’d wanted him.

It wasn’t a good sign and Joanie drifted into an uneasy sleep, worried that her marriage was in more serious trouble than she’d suspected.

Refreshed and rejuvenated from her two-week vacation, Lindsay hadn’t been home an hour—hadn’t even picked up the dogs from her parents yet—when Monte showed up at her apartment door, holding a huge bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. The flowers were beautiful; even more beautiful was the look on Monte’s face. Without a word it told her how much he’d missed her, how bereft he’d felt while she was away. That look alone was worth every miserable moment they’d been apart. It was a mistake to be this happy, to feel such undiluted joy, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Welcome home,” he said at last.

“Oh, Monte.” She covered her mouth with one hand, hardly able to believe he’d come.

Before another moment passed, she was in his arms. “I’ve been lost without you,” he whispered between kisses. “Never again,” he insisted, clasping her by the shoulders and gazing intensely into her eyes.

The roses were clutched in Lindsay’s arms, the thorns biting into her skin, but she barely felt the pain. “Who told you I was home?” she asked breathlessly, once they broke apart.

“No one. I overheard your uncle say you’d be back sometime today.”

Not knowing how to react, Lindsay stared down at the flowers. She loved him, she’d missed him—but she wasn’t ready for a confrontation. Especially now, with her heart so hungry for the sight of him. Again and again she tried to remind herself that they’d covered this ground before. Nothing was going to change. And as she acknowledged this, her joy at seeing him began to dissolve.

“I know you said you wanted to break things off, but I’m hoping you’ve come to your senses. Tell me you have,” he pleaded. When she didn’t immediately respond, Monte answered for her. “Your kisses say you’ve been missing me,” he whispered.

“I did miss you.” She couldn’t lie, but the truth was more than she wanted to confess. In an effort to diminish the growing intimacy, she carried the roses into the kitchen.

“I’ve done nothing but think about you,” Monte told her.

Lindsay brought out the stepladder to reach for the vase stored above the refrigerator. She’d done a lot of thinking, too. But during her trip, on the road with Maddy, everything had seemed much clearer than it did now.

Monte leaned against the counter, gazing steadily at her. “You’ve had two weeks. Surely you realize we belong together.”

Lindsay set down the vase. It seemed ridiculous that they should be having the most important—and perhaps the final—discussion of their relationship while standing in the middle of her tiny kitchen. There was so much she’d wanted to tell him, about her trip and her visit to Buffalo Valley. She yearned to share the things she’d learned, the places she’d seen—the Badlands, Yellowstone Park, Mount Rushmore. He was her friend, too, and that aspect of their relationship was as difficult to relinquish as the rest.

“You’ve come to your senses, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose I have.” She sounded so … weak, so unsure. She was weak, but her resolve was growing stronger. She refused to let him talk her out of the very things that were most important to her.

Monte sighed. “Thank heaven for that.”

It took him a moment to realize she was still standing on the other side of the room. “Come here, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”

“I don’t think you understand.” Her voice was emotionless.

“You said you’d come to your senses.”

“I have—and it’s over, Monte. Unless you’ve changed your mind about marriage and a family. And I don’t think you have.”

He stared at her as if he didn’t believe her. “You don’t mean that,” he said, shaking his head impatiently.

“I do mean it.”

“I’ve heard that before, Lindsay, and it’s foolishness. We belong together, we always have. You know it, and I do, too. We’re good together.”

“That’s true, Monte, but I want more. I want a husband and children. Is that so difficult to understand?”

His mouth thinned. “For the love of God, does it always have to go back to what you want?”

“In this case, yes. It’s my life.”

He pounded his fist against the counter, then seemed to regret the outburst. “Lindsay, would you listen to reason? I can’t marry you. I just can’t do it. Marriage ruins everything—I know that from experience. You—”

“Don’t, please.”

He advanced toward her, then stopped. “Fine,” he said, his voice cold, “if that’s the way you want it.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“You’ll be back,” he said. “Until then, all I can do is wait.” He slammed the door on his way out of her apartment.

Afterward Lindsay sat, mulling over their conversation, her arms wrapped around her knees. A chill spread down her arms that had nothing to do with the air-conditioned room. His bitter words about marriage echoed in her ears; so did his claim that she’d change her mind, that she’d come back. He seemed to think she’d eventually be willing to accept him on his terms, willing to give up her own dreams.

Lindsay bit into her lower lip, and hugged her legs all the harder.

It did no good to relive the same old arguments. The furniture in her uncle’s showroom might come with a guarantee, but life didn’t. Neither did marriage. But Monte’s divorce had destroyed any possibility of his taking a second chance on commitment. Nothing she could say or do would be enough to reassure him.

For two years, Lindsay had believed that Monte would see the light and realize that she wasn’t his ex-wife. Because she was stubborn, and because she loved him, she’d refused to accept defeat. His marriage, brief as it was, had forever marked him. Monte was incapable of giving her anything more than he already had.

Maddy had said it on their vacation. Either she take what he was offering or end the relationship.

Lindsay had made her decision. One thing was certain; she had to stay away from him. Her love for him made her too vulnerable. He would fight to preserve their relationship, and he’d work at wearing her down, the same way he had before.

Leaning back, she closed her eyes and reviewed her options. A new career, returning to college, starting her own business … Unexpectedly she remembered her visit to Buffalo Valley—and her conversation with Hassie Knight. She smiled. Hassie hadn’t come right out and said it, but without a teacher Buffalo Valley was doomed. That was the answer Lindsay sought. She would take the job; obviously, the town needed her … and perhaps she needed it.

Lindsay had minored in education and could apply for a teaching certificate in North Dakota. She had an opportunity to make a difference. A year—she’d give Buffalo Valley a year of her life. In a twelve-month period, they could locate and hire a permanent replacement for the high-school position. She’d fill in, and those twelve months would give her the distance she needed from Monte.

A chance like this didn’t happen every day. Her roots were in this dying town—her family’s heritage—and it was within her power to help. At the same time, she’d be saving herself from the agony of a dead-end relationship.

And, she thought with growing excitement, she could move into her grandparents’ home. It was pretty dilapidated—no wonder it hadn’t sold. She recalled the peeling paint, the broken porch steps and falling-down fence. But she could get it fixed up, and she’d have a free place to live if she took the job. The house would be a connection to her past, while teaching school could be her future.

She’d do it. Decision made, she dug through her purse for Hassie’s phone number. Funny, she mused as she reached for the telephone, she’d somehow known when she left Buffalo Valley that she was destined to return. She just hadn’t realized it would be this soon.

Four

The word that a high-school teacher had been found traveled faster than a dust storm through Buffalo Valley. Gage heard about it from Leta late one afternoon, two weeks after Lindsay’s visit. His day had been spent doing the second summer cutting of alfalfa. He smelled of grass and sweat and was hungrier than a bear in spring.

“You remember meeting her, don’t you?” his mother said, excitedly.

“There were two women in Hassie’s that Saturday,” he commented as he poured himself a glass of iced tea. He remembered, all right. And he knew without his mother’s telling him that it was Lindsay who was coming back.

For two weeks now, the woman had been on his mind, crowding into his thoughts when she was least welcome. In the time since her visit, he’d thought of her far too much, and he didn’t like it. He distrusted the feeling that had come after their brief introduction. It was too close to hope.

Gage didn’t want to feel anything for her. He couldn’t afford to feel anything—not for a city woman who’d be leaving after a year.

A darkening mass of clouds gathered on his horizon, a sure sign a storm was brewing. Only this storm was of his own making, and Gage wasn’t going to let himself get caught in it.

“The Snyder granddaughter’s the one who’s coming back,” Leta told him.

He nodded. “I can’t imagine why she agreed to teach here,” he said casually.

“She’s got roots in Buffalo Valley. You remember Anton and Gina Snyder, don’t you?”

Gage nodded again. Anton Snyder had sold his farm before the bottom fell out. He’d lived in an era when it was possible to make a decent living off the land. In the thirty years since the Snyders had sold, the reality of farming had changed.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” his mother asked.

Gage drank half the glass of tea in huge gulps.

“Well?”

“She won’t last.” He said it because he needed to hear it, needed to remind himself that he shouldn’t put any stock in her coming. Or her going.

“Don’t be such a pessimist.”

“She won’t last,” he said again. “Mark my words.” Lindsay Snyder had been born and raised in the South. One month of a Dakota winter, and this magnolia blossom would hightail it back to Savannah faster than he could spell blizzard.

“I don’t care what you say,” his mother chided, “we’re lucky to get her.”

If it was luck that had brought Lindsay Snyder to Buffalo Valley, then it was bad luck and he wanted no part of it. He didn’t know her, had barely even seen her, and he was already attracted to her. Attracted—to a woman who wasn’t going to stay.

Kevin stormed into the kitchen, the screen door slamming in his wake. “Calla said we got a teacher. Is it true?” His excitement rang through the room.

“Hassie phoned with the news,” Leta said. “Didn’t I tell you we’d find a teacher? Didn’t I?”

Kevin nodded as if he, too, had shared their mother’s faith from the first. The boy was all legs and arms yet, as tall as Gage and fifty pounds lighter. Gage had looked much the same at seventeen, but had filled out over time. A stint in the Army after graduation had helped firm his muscles, and given him the confidence to tackle the world. After two years at an agricultural college, he’d come home and farmed with his stepfather, intending to buy his own section of land, but then John had collapsed with a heart attack one July morning. He was dead ten minutes later, despite Gage’s frantic efforts to revive him.

“A bunch of us kids are going over to clean up the school.” Kevin looked toward Gage. “We’re gonna need help.”

The implication was clear. Kevin wanted Gage to volunteer his services.

“Everyone’s doing something,” Leta put in.

Gage ignored the dig. “Where’s the new teacher going to live?” He avoided saying her name because he found he liked the sound of it too much.

“Hassie told her a house came with the teaching contract, but Miss Snyder says she wants to live in her grandparents’ old place,” Leta answered, frowning a little. “The house is going to need work—but I suppose she already knows that, since she looked it over while she was here. Still, she probably doesn’t realize how much work….”

His brother and mother were watching Gage as if preparing the house and the school was entirely up to him. “What are you looking at me for?” he demanded.

Kevin’s gaze widened. “Someone’s got to get the place ready for her to move in.”

“You’re a member of the council, aren’t you?” his mother added.

“Yes.” Gage rolled his eyes. For the sake of his sanity, he planned to keep his distance from this Southern belle. Worse, a Southern belle who was all keen to discover her “roots.” A woman who probably had sentimental ideas and foolish illusions about this place and these people. Nope, he thought again, she wouldn’t last until Christmas.

He’d had a perfectly good day and wasn’t about to let his family ruin it by loading unwanted obligations on his overburdened shoulders. He’d just opened his mouth to say that when the phone rang.

Kevin raced for it as if someone might beat him to it. “Hello.” A moment later, he turned and thrust the receiver at Gage. “It’s for you.”

“Who is it?”

“Heath Quantrill.”

Gage wasn’t excessively fond of the banker, but then his aversion was toward all bankers and not just Quantrill. In truth, he—along with just about everyone else in town—owed a great deal to Heath’s grandparents, who’d founded Buffalo County Bank. The original bank had been in Buffalo Valley, and by the end of the sixties, there were branches in ten other towns and cities. While the other branches appeared to be thriving, the one in Buffalo Valley had to be operating at a loss. Gage suspected Lily Quantrill kept it open for nostalgic reasons. Her grandson had been managing it since last year, driving in from Grand Forks three days a week.

Rumor had it that Heath Quantrill wasn’t happy in the banking business. It was his brother, Max, who’d been slated to take over the operation. Until recently Heath, the younger of the Quantrill grandsons, had spent his time gallivanting around the world, rushing from one thrill to the next. Heath had the reputation of a daredevil who took crazy chances with his life, but it was his brother, his staid older brother, who’d died.

“Hello, Heath,” Gage said.

“Glad I caught you,” Heath said, sounding anything but. “Did you hear about the teacher?”

“I heard. When does she arrive?”

“Three weeks.”

So soon? Gage could feel his gut tightening. It wouldn’t be long before every unattached male within a fifty-mile radius would find an excuse to drop by the high school, hoping for a chance with the new teacher.

Let them, Gage decided abruptly. He wasn’t interested. He had better things to do.

“Hassie asked me to contact the members of the council for an emergency meeting.”

“When?”

“Tonight at seven. Can you be there?”

Gage didn’t feel he had a choice since he’d missed the last one. “Yes.” He didn’t need to attend the meeting to know what it was about; Leta and Kevin had already told him. The entire town was going to turn itself inside out to welcome a woman who wouldn’t last three months.

When he’d finished talking to Heath, Gage took a quick shower and changed his clothes.

“Dinner’s ready,” his mother told him when he came downstairs.

The three of them sat down at the table, and after his mother had said grace she passed him the platter of fried chicken, one of his favorites. He hadn’t taken his first bite before Kevin began to talk about school.

“Did you repair the chicken coop like I asked?” Gage broke in before the entire meal was ruined with talk of Lindsay Snyder.

“I did it this morning.” Kevin immediately returned to the subject of school. “Jessica and her friends are going to ask Miss Snyder about holding a dance. It’s been years since the last one.”

Gage started to tell his brother exactly what he thought of that, when his mother interrupted him.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, Kevin.”

The boy glanced at Gage. “Before you ask, I mucked out Ranger’s stall, too. And I’ve already fed the dogs.”

Gage nodded.

“Speaking of dogs, I heard the new teacher’s got two of ‘em.”

Gage nearly groaned. It didn’t matter what the subject, his brother and mother would find a way to turn it back to Lindsay.

“What’s for dessert?” Gage asked in one final attempt to talk about something else.

“Peach pie.”

Another of Gage’s favorites. “Is this my birthday and someone forgot to tell me?” he asked. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and peach pie were what his mother generally made for special occasions.

“Not your birthday.” His mother blushed with happiness. “But certainly a day for celebration. Oh, Gage, why can’t you be happy? We have a teacher, and she’s going to bring a breath of fresh air to this community!”

Buffalo Bob Carr knew his luck had changed when he won the 3 OF A KIND in a poker game two years ago. He’d inherited five thousand dollars from his mother’s estate; he’d been looking for a way to invest it and prove to himself, and his father, that he was more than a bum on a motorcycle. Then he’d won the entire business.

He’d been rolling through Buffalo Valley on his secondhand Harley when he met Dave Ertz, who was trying to sell the hotel, bar and restaurant, at that time known as The Prairie Palace. With no buyers in sight, Dave had held a poker game, charging a one-thousand-dollar entry fee. Winner take all. Four men had played, and Bob had won with three of a kind, hence the new name of the establishment.

The way Bob figured it, his momma would be real pleased to see him as a businessman. His old man had always claimed he’d never amount to much, and up to this point, he’d been right. But not anymore. Buffalo Bob, as he’d taken to calling himself, was a dignified entrepreneur.

Bob had taken the four thousand bucks left of his inheritance, ordered a brand-new neon sign, reupholstered the restaurant chairs, spruced up a few of the hotel rooms and opened his doors for business. It didn’t take him long to discover why Dave Ertz had wanted out. Money was tight in the farming community, and folks didn’t have a lot to spare. A night in town was considered a luxury. The truth was, he sold more beer than anything else. Thus far he was making ends meet, but only because he knew how to pinch his pennies. If nothing else, his years on the road had taught him frugality.

He didn’t need a master’s degree from a fancy business college to figure out that if the high school closed because they lacked a teacher, he might as well board up the place and ride out of town the same way he’d rolled in.

Then, the day before, the word had come. One of the women who’d been his guests two weeks ago had decided to take the job. God bless her!

Jokingly, Buffalo Bob had said he deserved the credit for Lindsay’s decision to return to Buffalo Valley. Well, he figured he was partially responsible for this sudden reversal in the town’s fortunes. He’d put the two women up in his best room and served them his special all-you-can-eat spaghetti dinner.

That Saturday night had been one of his best financially. He’d recently picked up the karaoke machine from a restaurant in Cando that was going out of business. With Joshua McKenna’s help, he’d managed to get it working. That was the day Joanie Wyatt had stopped in and gotten things started with a song from the Beatles’ “Sgt. Pepper” album. Bob had sold more beer that one afternoon than the entire previous week. He’d sell more this coming weekend, too, now that folks around town had a reason to celebrate.

“What’s the special tonight?” Merrily Benson asked, breaking into his thoughts. She was his one and only Buffalo Gal. He’d considered that a nice touch, calling his waitresses “Buffalo Gals.” Granted, Merrily was it, as far as staff went.

Buffalo Bob looked up from his desk and smiled at her. He’d come into his tiny, makeshift office first thing this morning to pay bills; now it was almost noon. Paying bills usually meant juggling bills—his suppliers, electricity, water. Taxes. And maintenance. He’d had Joshua over to fix the refrigerator unit the day before and the repair had eaten up most of the profit he’d made in the last couple of weeks. But he’d get by; he had before and he would again.

Dressed in her uniform with the rawhide fringe skirt and matching vest, Merrily looked like the real thing. Yup, his one and only Buffalo Gal—in every sense. Merrily and Bob were soul mates. He’d recognized it the minute she’d come into town and approached him about a job. He hadn’t been any better off then. He was barely making ends meet, but he found he couldn’t refuse Merrily. Even if it meant tightening his already uncomfortably tight belt.

“What’s with the smile?” Merrily asked. “I thought you were all bent out of shape about the refrigerator going on the blink?”

“Joshua McKenna came by to tell me a teacher’s been hired.”

Merrily’s eyes lit up, and she threw her arms around his neck. Her kisses were the sweetest Bob had ever tasted, but he knew better than to let himself get accustomed to their flavor.

Merrily had a bad habit of disappearing.

He was finally beginning to see a pattern with her. Just when they started to get emotionally as well as physically involved, his Buffalo Gal would pack her bags and quietly vanish.

The first time it’d happened, he’d been devastated. He’d awakened one morning and been shocked to find her gone. She’d hit the road without so much as a note goodbye. The only reason he’d known she’d left of her own free will was that she’d told Hassie Knight.

On her way out of town, Merrily had dropped in at Dennis Urlacher’s gas station to fill up her old wreck of a car. While she was there, she’d casually announced that it was time for her to move on. Just that abruptly, she’d left him, bewildered and sick at heart.

Three months later, she was back.

Buffalo Bob never knew from one day to the next if Merrily would be staying, but he’d grown to accept the uncertainty. He didn’t know if she’d always return to him, but he realized there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Merrily had her own rules. The fact was, he loved her.

She knew he was good for a job, a room and a small salary. But she’d only let him so close to her heart, and no closer. The moment it looked like she was in danger of falling in love with him, she’d take off, like a canary fleeing its cage. Only this pretty little canary always flew back. So far, anyway. Bob had learned to keep the door open for her.

“A teacher. That’s great news.” Merrily continued to hug him, then broke away. “I need to know what the special is,” she said and stepped back, tucking her fingertips in the waist of her skirt.

Buffalo Bob shuffled through the pages on his desk. He planned the menus two weeks in advance, but couldn’t recall what was scheduled for that night. To his surprise, Bob had discovered he was a reasonably talented cook, but folks around here weren’t looking for anything fancy. He served meat and potatoes with an occasional venture into the unusual. Well, unusual for Buffalo Valley. His spaghetti on Saturday nights sold well, chicken Caesar salad had done okay, but his Polynesian sweet and sour meatballs had been a dismal failure. And his Thai noodles—forget it.

“How about pot roast?” Merrily suggested. “With mashed potatoes and gravy.”

“Pot roast?”

“That’s what my mother always served the first day of school.”

Merrily had never mentioned her mother before. That was interesting, but he wasn’t entirely sure he followed her line of thinking. “It’s weeks before school starts.”

“Yeah, I know, but you got a teacher so school is going to start. It’d be kind of a celebration.”

“Sounds good to me.” Just about anything she suggested would get a favorable response from him. He had a couple of roasts in the freezer, lots of potatoes … Why not?

Merrily sat down on the chair beside his desk and fingered the edges of a book, riffling the pages with her thumb. “Bob,” she said, not looking at him.

He glanced up. Generally Merrily didn’t hang around the office much. If she wasn’t tending bar or filling in as a waitress, she stayed in her room. Some days he barely saw her.

“I …” She didn’t meet his eyes. “Listen, I know you aren’t exactly rolling in dough.”

She wanted a loan. He could feel it coming even before she said the words. Because of the refrigerator unit, money was tight, but he didn’t have the heart to refuse Merrily.

“How much?” he murmured, saving her the trouble of asking.

“How much?” she repeated with a frown. “Do you think I was coming to you for money?”

He didn’t answer and wanted to kick himself at her look of pain. “I don’t need a loan, Bob. In fact, I don’t need anything.” She was out of the chair and his office faster than he could stop her.

“Merrily,” he called, following her as she dashed up the stairs to her room at the farthest end of the hotel. “Merrily!”

She whirled around and would have slammed the door, but he wedged it open with his foot. “What did I say?” he asked. He thought she’d come to him for money, and he’d give it to her, as much as he could, because he loved her. Because there was damn little in this world he wouldn’t give her.

“You think I want money.”

He didn’t know what to say when he saw the tears on her cheeks. “Don’t you?”

“Well, sure, everyone wants money, but that wasn’t what I was going to talk to you about.”

“What were you going to say then?” he asked patiently.

“I … I was just going to tell you that you didn’t have to pay me this week.”

“Not pay you?” He wasn’t sure he understood. “Why not?”

“Because!” she cried, angry all over again. “You’re worried about what that repair on the refrigerator cost, and you might not have enough.”

His heart melted at her words. “You’d do that for me?”

“Yes, you idiot.”

“Oh.” For once he found himself speechless.

“Forget I offered, okay?”

Buffalo Bob shook his head. He wasn’t going to forget; in fact, he was going to remember it for a very long time.

Merrily swiped the back of her hand across her face and offered him a feeble smile. “Go back to paying your bills and I’ll start thawing those pot roasts.” She hurried past him on her way to the kitchen, but he reached out a hand to stop her.

Merrily glanced over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” he said.

She smiled, kissed him briefly on the lips, then ran lightly down the stairs.

Lindsay was delighted that her parents had decided to accompany her to Buffalo Valley. Her dad drove his truck, pulling the U-Haul trailer, while Lindsay followed behind in her own car, Mutt and Jeff, her dogs, traveling with her. They were mixed breeds, poodle and spaniel, easygoing dogs who loved car rides.

Leaving Savannah hadn’t been easy for a lot of reasons, but particularly because of Monte. It’d taken several confrontations before he’d accept that he wasn’t going to be able to cajole her into staying. As she prepared for her departure, he’d become angry, insisting she’d be back.

He was right, of course, but when she did return, he would be completely and totally out of her life.

Maddy had cheered her decision and even helped her pack. Lindsay knew she could count on her friend’s support and encouragement during the next year. They’d parted with promises to keep in touch.

Traveling with two dogs and all her worldly possessions made for a much slower trip this time around. Six days after they left Savannah, the Snyders pulled into Buffalo Valley and parked in front of Knight’s Pharmacy.

Her father climbed down from the truck and looked around as if seeing the town for the first time. His last visit had been three years earlier, when he’d come to move his father to Savannah. The trip had been quick and made in the middle of winter. Lindsay wondered just how much he’d noticed.

Hands on his hips, he stood there for a long moment. When their eyes met, Lindsay saw his doubts and worries, and she tried to reassure him with a smile. She knew what she was doing. He needn’t worry about her.

Lindsay attached the leashes to Mutt and Jeff before she opened the car door. She, too, studied the town that was to be her home for the next year. It did look bleak and sad. Ever the optimist, she’d convinced herself it wasn’t as shabby as she remembered. But it was. Worse, even. Still, she didn’t let that dissuade her.

“Lindsay, look!” her mother said, pointing to a banner strung between Hansen’s Grocery and Knight’s Pharmacy.

Someone had taken an old white sheet and painted WELCOME, MISS SNYDER in bright red paint across it.

This simple greeting completely changed the grim reality of Buffalo Valley.

“Lindsay.” Hassie stepped out of the pharmacy and threw open her arms. “Welcome back.”

After hugging the older woman, Lindsay introduced her parents. “You remember my dad, don’t you? This is Brian and my mother, Kathleen.”

“Brian, of course. Oh my, you do look good. Come in, come in. The whole town’s been waiting for you. You made good time.” Chattering happily, Hassie ushered them inside.

Lindsay and her parents had just sat down at the soda fountain when others started to arrive. Jacob Hansen was the first. He came in from the grocery store across the street.

“We got your cupboards stocked with a few of the necessities,” he told Lindsay.

“My cupboards?”

“At the house,” he explained. “That’s our way of thanking you.”

“Oh … thank you.” Lindsay hadn’t expected anyone to do that.

“It wasn’t only me and Marta,” Jacob was quick to tell her. “We had a pounding last Monday night. Practically everyone in town contributed something.”

Lindsay had never heard of such a thing and turned to her mother, who explained, “Everyone brings a pound of something to stock the kitchen.”

“How thoughtful!”

“The high-school kids repainted the inside of the house,” Hassie told her. “Did a good job, too.”

“Your grandmother had the wallpaper stripped off years ago,” her mother said. “Most homes this age were wallpapered, but your grandmother Gina liked a more modern look.”

“Joshua McKenna contributed the paint,” the grocer leaned forward to say. “You remember Joshua, don’t you? He’s the president of the town council.”

“But the kids picked out the color.” A tall, rather attractive brunette approached her and held out her hand. “I’m Sarah Stern, Joshua’s daughter, and my Calla’s going to be one of your students.”

“Hi, I’m Lindsay.” More and more people filled the pharmacy, and she raised her voice. “Like I told Hassie when I phoned to ask about the job, I’ve never taught school before and I’m going to need a lot of help.”

“You got it,” Buffalo Bob shouted, giving her a thumbs-up sign. “We got all-you-can-eat spaghetti tonight, and Lindsay and her folks eat for free.”

A cheer went up, and Lindsay exchanged smiles with her parents, although she couldn’t help noting the hesitation in her mother’s eyes when she looked at the restaurant owner.

“You need help unloading that trailer?” Lindsay’s gaze fell on a man wearing a uniform shirt advertising a brandname gasoline. He stepped forward and offered his hand. “Dennis Urlacher,” he said. “From this welcome, you can guess we’re pleased to see you.”

Lindsay laughed at his comment. “Is one of your children going to be in my class, too?”

He shook his head. “I’m not married.”

Lindsay saw the way he looked at Sarah and guessed the two of them were probably an item. Romance, however, was the last thing on her mind. She’d come to recover from one unhappy episode and wasn’t planning to complicate her life with another.

“We’re serious about helping you unpack the trailer,” Joshua McKenna said, glancing around at his friends and neighbors. “Might as well say yes, seeing you’ve got this many volunteers.”

Lindsay would’ve preferred to relax for a few minutes before tackling that project, but her father answered for her. “We’d appreciate as much help as we can get,” he told them.

Her grandparents’ house was two blocks off Main, and Lindsay walked over, leading her dogs and half the town; her father drove the truck and U-Haul, while her mother brought Lindsay’s car.

“This is the closest thing we’ve had to a parade in years,” Hassie joked, planting herself beside Lindsay.

Rounding the corner, Lindsay saw her grandparents’ house. She gasped, hardly able to believe her eyes.

The yard had been cleaned and the flower boxes planted. A row of bright red geraniums brought a flash of color to the white house. The windows sparkled, and a wicker rocker had been placed on the front porch, with a large welcome mat in front of the door.

“It was one of your grandmother’s favorite spots,” Hassie whispered, sounding almost emotional.

“This is too much,” she protested.

“We wanted you to know we appreciate what you’re doing,” Joshua McKenna said as he passed her, carrying the first load from the trailer.

“The fence has been repaired, too,” Lindsay said in wonder. “And it’s painted and everything …”

“We didn’t want your dogs to get lost,” Hassie said. “You can thank Gage Sinclair for that.”

Gage was someone Lindsay hadn’t forgotten. They’d met during those few moments when he’d come into the pharmacy with his mother. Lindsay didn’t think she’d ever seen such depth and character in a man’s face. He was in his thirties, she’d guess, but the years couldn’t have been easy ones. The tracery of fine lines at the corners of his eyes told her that. His hair, a coffee-brown, had been in need of a cut. He was deeply tanned, but this wasn’t the kind of tan one got from sitting under a lamp. His tan had been baked on by long hours in the sun. It was his eyes, though, that had struck her most. They were the most incredible blue, verging on gray.

Before they’d had a chance to exchange more than a word or two, he’d made his excuses and left. Later, Hassie had told her Gage had a younger brother who’d be attending the high school. In those few moments, Lindsay had keenly felt his appraisal, but whatever he thought he’d kept to himself.

“If you like what we did to the outside, just wait till you see the interior.” Her face bright with joy, Hassie grabbed Lindsay’s hand and led her into the house.

Inside, Lindsay paused. The place was virtually unrecognizable. The living room was a bright white and when she moved into the kitchen she found it to be a cheery shade of lemon-yellow. Her bathroom was a robin’s egg-blue, and her bedroom a pale lavender.

What hadn’t been repainted had been scrubbed until it glistened. The floors shone with wax, and the entire place smelled fresh and clean.

“I can’t believe anyone would do all this.” Lindsay had wondered how she was going to make the house liveable and still manage to get everything ready for the first day of school. She’d had no idea that the entire town of Buffalo Valley had foreseen her dilemma and taken action.

With so many people helping, it didn’t take more than thirty minutes to completely unload the trailer and the truck. By the time Lindsay had finished thanking everyone, her mother was in the kitchen putting away pots and pans and filling up cupboards and drawers.

Lindsay leaned against the doorway. “I’m exhausted.”

Her mother laughed. “My goodness, Lindsay, you’re their hero.”

“I wonder if they’ll feel the same way at the end of the school year?” her father teased, digging into the stacks of cardboard boxes for her CD player.

Lindsay headed toward the largest bedroom, which faced the front of the house. Her bed had already been assembled, thanks to Dennis Urlacher and Joshua McKenna. She found the box that held the sheets and then, with her dogs patiently waiting, she made the bed. Mutt and Jeff immediately hopped up, making themselves comfortable. She’d barely been in town an hour and already her clothes were hung in the closet and her kitchen cupboards were stocked. This old house, which had felt so stark and empty only a few weeks earlier, had been scrubbed clean, repainted and repaired, until now it looked and felt like home.

In two days, her parents would return to Savannah and Lindsay would be alone for the first time since her arrival. Her gaze fell on the fireplace and she recalled the memory of her grandmother and the moving brick.

She would find that brick, she decided, and discover what her grandmother had slipped inside all those years ago.

Five

Minutes for the August 21st 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 attending: Joshua McKenna, Dennis Urlacher, Jacob Hansen, Hassie Knight, Heath Quantrill. Marta Hansen and Buffalo Bob Carr sat in as observers. Absent: Gage Sinclair.

In regard to old business: Joshua McKenna commended everyone on the hard work and effort that went into cleaning up the school and yard. He also mentioned the work done to the old Snyder place to welcome the new schoolteacher. In refurbishing the house, the council spent two hundred dollars to supplement what wasn’t donated by the community businesses. Hassie Knight read a thank-you letter written to the town council by Lindsay Snyder.

In the matter of new business: council president Joshua McKenna reminded the council of Lindsay Snyder’s request for guest speakers at the school on Friday afternoons. In an effort to set a good example, he volunteered to be the first speaker. Heath Quantrill offered to speak on banking practices and Hassie Knight promised a chemistry lesson. Dennis Urlacher declined to participate but volunteered Gage Sinclair, seeing that he was absent due to harvesting pressures.

It was brought to the council’s attention by Marta Hansen (who is not an official member of the council) that because Miss Snyder is from the South and unaccustomed to the harsh North Dakota winters, the search for a permanent replacement for Eloise Patten should continue. The council is taking her suggestion under advisement. Hassie Knight recommended the town give Lindsay Snyder a chance to prove herself first.

It was reported that Rachel Fischer is looking into opening a pizza parlor on weekends, using her parents’ restaurant, which has been closed for three years.

The meeting was adjourned at precisely noon.

Respectfully submitted,

Hassie Knight

Heath Quantrill had found the summons from his grandmother when he reached the Buffalo Valley bank bright and early Wednesday morning. The fact that she hadn’t phoned him at home told him she wanted to see him regarding a bank matter. He couldn’t even guess what he’d done to incur the old woman’s wrath this

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