Читать книгу Dakota Born - Debbie Macomber - Страница 8

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

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

“Thanks for calling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dennis shrugged as they drove away from the house.

“You don’t know, do you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A teacher will turn up before then.”

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

“Your dad—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why did you wait so long?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“You were thinking of calling Monte.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” Maddy’s response was emphatic.

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

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

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

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

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

Maddy’s look was sympathetic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The woman nodded. “Who might you be?”

“Lindsay Snyder …”

“Gina’s granddaughter!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lindsay and Maddy shared a suspicious glance.

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

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

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

“And now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lindsay had noticed.

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

Lindsay glared at her friend.

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

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