Читать книгу Always Dakota - Debbie Macomber - Страница 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His name’s Axel.”

“Unusual name.”

Joshua nodded and continued to inspect the engine.

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

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

“Poor little boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You never saw her pregnant?” Larry repeated.

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

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

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

“You’re sure the boy is hers?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You might never know.”

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

Larry nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been busy.”

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

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

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

There was no denying that he had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matt brushed her hand away.

“What are you thinking about?”

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

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

“We need to talk about Margaret.”

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

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

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

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

“A stupid one.”

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

“Yeah, I’ll bet you were.”

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

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

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

“I have to go.”

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t Sheryl, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can bring the cranberries,” he offered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“That you were just as surprised as me.”

“At kissing you?” he asked.

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

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

“Am I right, Matt?”

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

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

“Okay,” she agreed, sounding eager.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t,” he reminded her.

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

“Yes, Grandma.”

“Then tell me where we’re headed.”

Heath sighed. “To eat Thanksgiving dinner.”

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

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

“Leave your grandfather out of this.”

“Yes, Grandma.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you lecturing me, Heath Quantrill?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I’m not one of them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Grandma.”

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

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

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

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

“It is.”

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

“I am, and you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mark Fischer,” Mark returned politely.

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

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