Dakota Home

by Debbie Macomber

  “He said that?” Lily felt she’d failed her grandson completely. Had he learned nothing from her? “Someone needs to teach that boy a lesson.” She shook her head despairingly.

  “I do believe I have,” Rachel told her, “only I can see now that the lesson backfired. I’ve seen Heath around town a few times. He’s cordial, but that’s about all. I think he’s letting me know that he isn’t interested in me any longer. I’m disappointed, but frankly, perhaps that’s for the best.”

  “Hogwash!” It was clear that her grandson needed more help than she’d realized. Rachel was a strong woman, and Heath, God help him, was as obstinate as they came. What surprised her was that, in this case, he’d given up so easily.

  She wheeled her chair over to the telephone. “How long are you in town?” she asked.

  Rachel frowned. “I hired a prep cook last week, so I don’t have to be back in Buffalo Valley until six.”

  “Good.” She reached for the phone and pushed the automatic dial for the Grand Forks branch of Buffalo County Bank, where Heath worked on Tuesday afternoons. When she asked for him, the call was immediately directed to his office.

  “Heath Quantrill,” her grandson said in a brisk, businesslike tone.

  “I have something important I need to talk over with you,” Lily barked.

  “Hello, Grandma.”

  “How soon can you get here?”

  “Ah…you don’t mean now, do you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” she snapped.

  His hesitation didn’t please her. “I’ll expect you in fifteen minutes,” she insisted.

  “Grandma, I realize I’m at your beck and call, but—”

  “Don’t keep me waiting.” With that, she replaced the receiver. Heath’s loud protests could be heard as she lowered it.

  Rachel seemed shocked. Apparently she’d never heard anyone talk to Heath in that manner.

  “He’ll be here soon,” Lily said, rolling her chair back to the table. “Would you care for some tea while we wait?”

  Rachel nodded. “Please.” Lily poured and they settled into a pleasant conversation about the changes in Buffalo Valley.

  Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Lily’s doorbell rang. Before she had a chance to respond, Heath flew into the room.

  “I hope to hell this is important.” He stopped midway inside and froze when he saw Rachel.

  “Heath?” A soft, feminine voice followed him.

  Rachel’s embarrassed gaze met Lily’s.

  “Who are you?” Lily demanded of the attractive young woman.

  “Grandma, this is Kate Butler,” Heath answered for her, apparently recovering his composure. He placed his arm affectionately around Kate’s shoulders, as if to protect her from Lily’s disapproval.

  “I’m so pleased to meet you, Ms. Quantrill,” Kate said in the same brisk, businesslike tone her grandson had used earlier.

  “And this is Rachel Fischer,” he continued. “Rachel’s…a family friend.”

  Buffalo Bob’s sore throat had grown steadily worse all week. It bothered him enough that he closed the restaurant and went to visit Hassie. Hassie Knight dispensed wisdom along with medical advice, although Bob suspected she couldn’t cure what really ailed him—heartache and misery.

  Frowning, Hassie pressed her hand to his forehead. “You don’t feel feverish.”

  “I feel like a pile of dog sh—”

  “I get the picture,” Hassie said, her stern expression warning him that she wouldn’t tolerate the use of four-letter words.

  “Any other symptoms?”

  “Like what? Isn’t a sore throat bad enough?”

  Hassie stuck a disposable thermometer in his mouth. “Now, listen here, Bob Carr—yes, I remember your name before you became the mighty Buffalo Bob—I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but whatever it is, shake it off.”

  Hassie marched down the center aisle, paused in front of the cold medications, then glanced over her shoulder. “You’ve been in a sour mood for weeks now.”

  He pulled out the thermometer. “There’s nothing wrong with my mood!”

  “Keep that thermometer in your mouth!” she ordered. “You once boasted that you knew by a man’s look when he was having woman problems. Well, you aren’t the only one who can recognize that look.”

  He mumbled something sarcastic, but he knew his words weren’t discernible. Just as well.

  “You don’t think I know Merrily’s left town?” she said, and took a box off the shelf, turned it over and read the back. “Don’t worry,” Hassie added confidently. “She’ll be back.”

  “Not this time,” he said, attempting to speak around the thermometer. In the weeks since Merrily had left, Bob had reviewed their last conversation countless times. Given another chance, he would have kept his mouth shut. Now it was too late.

  He knew his Buffalo Gal well enough to realize he’d gone too far, said too much. She wouldn’t be back; Bob had ruined any hope of that. Merrily wouldn’t ever return unless she felt certain she was wanted.

  Hassie removed the thermometer from between his lips and examined it closely. “Ninety-eight point six.”

  “I don’t care what the damned thing says! I’m sick.”

  Hassie slapped the cold medication into his hand. “Take two of these every four hours and call me if you don’t feel better by the end of the week.”

  “I don’t need a doctor?” he asked, surprised she didn’t immediately insist he set up an appointment in Grand Forks.

  “You can see a physician if you want, but my guess is he’ll tell you to stay off your feet, drink lots of fluids and call if any other symptoms develop.”

  “And charge me fifty bucks.”

  “Hey, my advice comes free with purchase,” Hassie told him, moving toward the cash register. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in a chocolate soda?”

  Bob declined. Chocolate wasn’t his indulgence of choice. “All right, I’ll close 3 OF A KIND for a couple days and take my medicine,” he muttered without enthusiasm. Lately he’d considered selling off the whole operation. The desire to hit the road again came and went, but he’d found himself thinking about it more and more.

  The old life he’d so willingly left behind seemed intent on luring him back. Several nights now, he’d sat up, unable to sleep, and worked the numbers, figuring he’d come away with a tidy profit.

  The entire economy of Buffalo Valley had taken a turn for the better. They’d had word, just that week, that JCPenney was going to open a catalog store. This was a source of great excitement. Folks would be able to pick up their orders in Buffalo Valley, instead of having to drive to either Devils Lake or Grand Forks. The council had encouraged the enterprise because it brought farmers and ranchers into town more often.

  Buffalo Bob had confirmed that he could count on making at least five times the cost of his investment. Even so, deep inside, he realized he was seeking a cure for a broken heart—a geographical cure. He knew that running didn’t solve one damn thing, but he found it increasingly difficult to maintain his enthusiasm for 3 OF A KIND without Merrily by his side.

  He paid Hassie for the cold medication, opened the box and swallowed two tablets without water. Muttering his thanks, he headed back down the street.

  The Closed sign still hung on the door—but the door itself was unlocked. He knew better than to leave that much liquor unguarded.

  Hope fluttered inside him. Merrily. She had a key. Despite what he’d said, she was back.

  Disregarding his sore throat, he threw open the door and shouted her name. “Merrily?”

  A moment later, she appeared at the top of the stairs. “Bob!” Without waiting for his reply, she dashed halfway down the stairs. Then she launched herself directly into his arms, flying through space with the assurance that he would catch her.

  He did, holding her against him, making inarticulate sounds of sheer joy at seeing her again. If not for his sore throat, he would have kissed her in
a way she wouldn’t soon forget. But his hands were all over her, seeking reassurance, imparting gratitude—and relief.

  “I get the impression you’ve missed me,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.” He buried his face in her neck, lifted her into his arms, then started up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  “Bob?” She sounded unsure.

  “Yeah?” he said, huffing as he reached the top.

  “Before we—you know?”

  He couldn’t believe she was shy about what he intended to do. After all, they were familiar lovers. He hadn’t wanted another woman after Merrily; he hadn’t even looked at anyone else in three years.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I—I’d like to tell you something first.”

  He set her back on her own feet. “Okay.”

  She moved two steps away from him and placed the tips of her fingers in her back jeans pockets. “I…thought about what you said.”

  “About not coming back?” He hadn’t meant it, had spoken in anger and frustration.

  “Yes…” She lowered her head, hair falling forward and framing her face. “You said either I could stay or I could go.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And if I chose to leave, I shouldn’t come back.”

  He inhaled and held his breath, then nodded.

  “But if I wanted, I could stay with you?”

  He wasn’t sure what she was asking. “I remember.”

  “Could I still stay with you?”

  Was she joking? She had to be. “I want us to be together.” He wasn’t proposing marriage, but she knew that. “I want you here with me. Are you going to stay this time, Merrily?”

  She offered him a tentative smile. “If you’ll have me, I’ll stay as long as you like.”

  It was everything he’d wanted. “No more sneaking off in the middle of the night?” He held his breath.

  “No more.”

  He’d heard all he needed to hear. “Come on, honey,” he said, grabbing her hand.

  “There’s something else,” she insisted, and led him down the long hallway to his private living quarters.

  “You’ll sleep in my room, won’t you?” At first she’d kept a room of her own, which had seemed downright silly to him.

  She hesitated.

  “All right. We’ll talk about that later.” Standing in the doorway of her room, Buffalo Bob removed his leather vest, then tugged the heavy sweater over his head and tossed it aside. Once free of that, he started unfastening his belt. The medication had made him a little woozy but didn’t diminish the effect Merrily’s body had on him. He was ready to peel off his jeans when he heard a faint sound. It sounded almost like a kid crying.

  “What was that?” he asked, frowning.

  “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Merrily said, her voice strained.

  Her announcement was followed by a louder cry. Bob looked wildly around, then lunged toward the door.

  Merrily stopped him, one hand on his chest. “Wait here,” she instructed, slipping past him. A moment later she returned with a child in her arms, a boy, maybe two years old.

  “It’s a…kid,” he said, realizing it wasn’t one of his more brilliant deductions.

  “Yeah, it’s a kid. His name is Axel.”

  “Axel,” Bob repeated. He backed away as if he feared the toddler would leap out and bite him. “Is he…yours?” He swallowed hard before asking, fearing her answer.

  She paused long enough to make him wonder. “Yeah, he’s mine.” Her tone was challenging.

  “Just a minute here,” Bob said, holding up his index finger. Merrily had drifted in and out of 3 OF A KIND for the better part of three years. If the kid really was hers, she would’ve been pregnant during one of her visits, and she hadn’t been. Buffalo Bob was in a position to know.

  “All right,” she snapped. “I didn’t give birth to him, but I’m his mother.”

  “You’re related to him, then?” Buffalo Bob had never been around children much, especially infants and toddlers. They made him nervous.

  “I told you his name. Use it.”

  “All right, all right.” Clearly she was protective of this kid.

  “Don’t ignore him, either, understand?” The little boy had buried his face in her shoulder.

  “Answer my question first.” She was making a lot of demands, but he had a few of his own. She couldn’t just show up with a strange kid, ask to stay and not give him any answers.

  She glared at him. “I said I’m his mother.”

  “Is he blood?” If she was bringing trouble into his house, he had a right to know.

  She held his gaze for a heartbeat, then slowly, regretfully, lowered her eyes. Merrily didn’t need to say a word; he knew. “The kid’s not yours and not related to you.” He swallowed. “You steal him?”

  Her narrowed eyes instantly clashed with his. “If you want me to go, just say so and I’m out of here.”

  Bob considered his options. Even without understanding what he was letting himself in for, the risk was worth it. He shrugged. If she was running from the law, then he’d protect her as long as possible.

  “Can you say hello, Axel?” she coaxed the boy. The toddler continued to hide his face in her shoulder.

  “Hello, Axel,” Buffalo Bob said gently. He moved close enough to pat the little boy’s head. He was a cute thing, what Bob could see of him, but tiny.

  “Do you want to hold him?” Merrily asked.

  “No,” Bob said. “Oh, no.”

  Merrily scowled, her arms surrounding the boy. “Like I explained, Axel and I come as a set, so if you don’t want him around, say so now and we’ll move on.”

  Buffalo Bob felt the need to sit down. The room was spinning but he suspected it was due to more than the medication. Merrily stood before him, her expression cast in stone, waiting for his decision.

  “Tell me one thing,” he said. “Where’d you get the kid?”

  “Why do you want to know? Is it really that important?”

  “Is anyone going to come looking for you?”

  She took her time answering. “Probably not, but it could happen.”

  He muttered a word not meant for young ears.

  Merrily shifted the boy from one hip to the other. “So, do we stay or do we go?”

  He didn’t need to think long on that one. He wanted Merrily. Axel was her business, not his. “Stay,” he muttered on the tail end of a lengthy sigh.

  It was dusk when Jeb returned to the house after spending several hours checking on his herd. In January the wind and cold were unmerciful and he found he could only remain outside a limited time. He fed his bison extra grain every other day during the winter.

  As he neared the house, he noticed Dennis’s truck parked in the yard.

  He hadn’t talked to his friend in weeks, although Dennis had left a couple of phone messages, which Jeb had ignored. He wasn’t sure what he’d say now, or if he’d be able to restrain his bitterness.

  Jeb didn’t need anyone to tell him the anger and jealousy he directed toward Dennis was unjustified. As he’d told himself before, Maddy had the right to see Dennis if she wanted. And Dennis couldn’t possibly know how Jeb felt about her. Only one person did, and that was Sarah. But she hadn’t mentioned Maddy’s name since before Christmas. His sister had her own reasons, the same way Jeb had his. The fact that Dennis was dating Maddy had to be as painful to her as it was to him.

  Once he’d parked his truck, Jeb headed slowly toward the house.

  Dennis met him at the kitchen door. “I let myself in.”

  He’d done that hundreds of times over the years. Still, on this occasion, he apparently felt obliged to mention it.

  Jeb smelled the fresh coffee and poured himself a mug. “How’s it going?”

  “All right,” Dennis said.

  They sat at the kitchen table, in their usual positions, across from each other. Neit
her of them was a brilliant conversationalist. Five minutes must have passed before Dennis got around to divulging the reason for his visit.

  “There’s something I’d like to talk over with you.”

  They’d always been friends, good friends, good enough to be able to discuss any subject. But if Dennis brought up something to do with Maddy, Jeb didn’t know what he’d say. The possibility made him tense.

  “Sometimes things happen,” Dennis said solemnly. “Things that…that no one intended. They just happen.”

  “Right.” Jeb hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. But whatever it was seemed to have flustered him badly. Jeb figured if he didn’t interrupt with a lot of questions, eventually Dennis would get around to saying what was on his mind.

  “Sometimes when these…certain unintended things happen, there are, uh, results.”

  “Results?” Jeb asked, utterly lost.

  “Consequences,” Dennis elaborated, after pausing as though to find the right word.

  “Okay.”

  “Unforeseen consequences.” Dennis eyed him intently.

  “All right. Unforeseen consequences,” Jeb repeated, just so Dennis would know he was doing his best to make some sense of this conversation.

  “Consequences for which no one should be blamed.” Dennis wrapped both hands around the mug. “Not you, and certainly not the woman.”

  “Woman?” Now Jeb was really confused. A woman was involved in this unforeseen consequence of an unexpected event. What a convoluted explanation!

  “I wanted to mention it before,” Dennis admitted, “but I gave my word of honor that I wouldn’t. I disagreed with the person, especially since I felt strongly that it wasn’t me who should be telling you.”

  “Dennis,” Jeb finally said. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  His friend cast him a shocked look. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “Hell, no! You’re talking in innuendoes. An event with unforeseen consequences. Hell, man, sounds like a fortune cookie. Could mean anything.”

  Dennis bolted to his feet. “Think about it.”