Kitabı oku: «Dakota Born»

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.