Читать книгу Dakota Home - Debbie Macomber - Страница 10

Dennis Urlacher had given a lot of thought to making peace with Sarah’s daughter. He just didn’t know how to do it. He’d made numerous attempts to be her friend, to gain her confidence. Each effort had backfired. Their relationship was worse now than it had ever been. Calla was belligerent, disdainful and downright rude to him. Because he loved Sarah, Dennis had taken everything the little brat dished out. No more.

Sarah never had told him why she’d come to his house a week earlier, but Dennis had pretty much figured it out. She’d had a fight with Calla. He’d held her, made love to her and let her sleep in his arms while he watched her, treasuring every minute they could be together.

Close to midnight, she’d awakened, flustered and upset that he’d let her sleep. He stood by silently while she’d hurriedly dressed, then he got dressed, too, and drove her home. They’d kissed, and she’d sneaked inside, almost as if they were both teenagers, fearing a parental confrontation.

Dennis hadn’t seen or talked to Sarah since. That was her usual pattern. They’d make love and afterward she’d avoid him. He didn’t like it, but didn’t know how to break the destructive habit they’d fallen into.

From his gas station, Dennis watched the school bus roll into town, which signaled that classes were out for the day. Buffalo Valley and Bellmont had come up with a plan that enabled each town to keep its schools open. The Bellmont school taught the elementary and junior-high students, and Buffalo Valley was responsible for the high-schoolers from both communities. It meant busing a lot of kids in a lot of different directions, but the plan had worked, and both schools were doing well.

Dennis gave Calla half an hour to make it home. Then he left Bruce Buechler, his employee, in charge of the station, and he walked quickly to Josh McKenna’s house. He rang the doorbell.

Calla didn’t keep him waiting long, and he could tell from her expression that he was the last person she’d expected to see. “My mom isn’t here,” she announced curtly. She would have closed the door if he hadn’t stopped her.

“I know.”

“My grandpa’s at the store.”

“I know that, too. I came to talk to you.”

She stared at him, frowning. “But I don’t want to talk to you.”

“The least you can do is hear me out.”

She crossed her arms and gave him a bored look. “Okay, fine. What do you want?”

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” He gestured toward the porch swing.

“I prefer to stand.”

He sighed. “All right,” he muttered. Although he realized that it gave her the advantage, he took a seat and let her stand. “As you already know, I care deeply for your mother.”

Calla snickered, and Dennis gritted his teeth.

“Your attitude toward the two of us is tearing your mother apart.”

“You think I don’t know that you’re lovers?” Calla said scornfully.

Dennis stiffened. “What happens between your mother and me is none of your business.”

“You two make me sick.”

“Perhaps when you’re an adult—”

“An adult?” she repeated, sounding vastly amused. “You think my feelings toward you are going to change?”

“I’m hoping you’ll be a bit more tolerant.”

Her chin came up a defiant notch. “Don’t count on it.”

This conversation was not going the way Dennis had hoped. “As I started to say, your attitude is hurting your mother. She loves me.”

Calla pinched her lips together and stared into the street as if mesmerized.

“What’s it going to take for you to understand that I only want the best for you both?”

Her gaze flickered toward him as if his words had caught her off guard. “Then stay the hell out of our lives.”

“I’m not willing to do that. Perhaps if you told me what you find so objectionable about me…”

“For starters, you’re five years younger than my mother.”

“That doesn’t bother us, so why should it bother you?”

“Because it does.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.” She faced him then, hands lowered to her sides, fists clenched. “I have a father.”

He wasn’t sure what she was saying. “Yes,” he urged, wanting her to elaborate.

“You think you can take his place in my life.”

Dennis’s head reared back in surprise. “Calla, no! I don’t think that at all.” So that was it. She feared he was going to interrupt the limited relationship she had with Willie Stern. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said, keeping his voice calm and as sincere as he could make it.

“If it wasn’t for you, my mom and dad might get back together.”

Dennis sighed with frustration. “I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“How would you know?” she demanded. “My dad told me—” She closed her mouth as if she regretted having said that much.

“Are you saying your father holds out some hope of a reconciliation?” Dennis asked, unable to believe it. Sarah hardly ever mentioned Willie, and when she did, it was with disgust for the things he’d done.

“He still loves her,” Calla blurted out. “He told me so himself.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t,” Calla cried. She turned toward the house and jerked open the screen door. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d have a real family.” Then she glared at him with such fierce animosity Dennis felt as if he’d been slapped. “I hate you. You’ve ruined my entire life.” She whirled into the house, slamming the door hard enough to shake the front windows.

Dennis waited for the anger to wash over him. Calla’s, plus his own. So much for clearing the air. She hated his guts. Furthermore, she lived in a fantasy world in which he was the villain.

Not knowing what else he could say or do, Dennis walked over to Sarah’s shop. Luckily she wasn’t in the middle of a class, but he could tell from the way her eyes shifted away from his that she wasn’t pleased to see him.

“Hello, Sarah,” he said, standing just inside the doorway.

She nodded; however, she didn’t return his greeting.

“I have a question for you.”

“All right,” she said, but she stayed on the other side of the room. He understood her need to maintain a distance. It was necessary just then for both of them.

“Is there any chance of you reconciling with Willie?”

Her head shot up and she laughed shortly. “No!” The vehemence of her response told him everything he needed to know.

“That’s not what Calla thinks.”

She continued to stare at him, her eyes narrowing. “You talked to Calla? When?”

“Just now.”

“What gave you the right to talk to my daughter about my marriage?”

“I didn’t. I came to talk to her about you and me.”

That apparently wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear, either. She closed her eyes, mouth tensed, as if trying to hold back her anger.

“You don’t think I should be talking to Calla? Is that it?”

“She’s my daughter.”

“I know, and she hates me. I wanted to find out what I’ve done that’s so awful she doesn’t want anything to do with me. Or worse, why she doesn’t want me to be with you.”

“My daughter is my concern.”

“I’m not telling you how to raise her,” he said. “All I wanted to do was set things straight.”

“And she told you there’s a chance her father and I will reconcile?”

He nodded.

“Stay away from my daughter, Dennis.”

“Fine, if that’s the way you want it.” He didn’t know what terrible crime he’d committed. “Do you want me to stay away from you, too?” he demanded.

She didn’t answer.

“Do you?” he asked a second time. “You say the word and I’m out of here, Sarah. I’m tired of ramming my head against a brick wall. It hurts too damn much.” He wasn’t a man who raised his voice often nor did he easily lose his temper, but he’d reached his limit with both Sarah and Calla.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded.

Her voice was so soft he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.

“Don’t do what?” he burst out. “Don’t want a life with the woman I love? Don’t want to share my days and nights with you? Don’t want children of my own?” He was still too angry to lower his voice.

“Dennis…”

“You ask too much.” Shaking his head, he walked out of the store and headed back to the service station, his heart as heavy as his steps.

Maddy checked the printed directions to the Clemens’ Triple C cattle ranch as she crossed the highway over Juniper Creek. On the spur of the moment, she’d decided to leave Jeb’s ranch for last. Driving to the Clemens’ spread first meant going out of her way, but she didn’t mind.

Her practice run a week earlier had helped her figure out the unfamiliar country roads. As before, she marveled at the beauty of the landscape—the pastureland, the wheat fields recently shorn, the row upon row of glorious sunflowers, ready for harvest. Birds were everywhere, their song a perfect counterpoint to the visual delights all around her.

Maddy looked forward to meeting the Clemenses. So far, every conversation with Bernard Clemens had been by phone. He’d mentioned his daughter, Margaret, in passing and Maddy was particularly eager to meet her. Lindsay never had. It seemed the Clemens property was an equal distance between Buffalo Valley and Bellmont, and Lindsay assumed that Margaret usually did her shopping in Bellmont. Still, the housekeeper had faxed Maddy a long supply list earlier in the week, obviously interested in her new delivery service.

Turning down the dirt roadway, Maddy could see a large two-story white house in the distance, an impressive-looking place with a pasture out front where three sleek horses grazed. The outbuildings were well maintained, too. Unaccustomed to farm and ranch living, she couldn’t identify all of them, but in addition to the huge red barn there appeared to be a grain silo and several other structures, including a foreman’s house and a bunkhouse. She might not know much about country living, but she knew the Clemenses had money.

No expense had been spared. Everything about the ranch spoke of prosperity and abundance, unlike most of the other farms and ranches she’d visited earlier in the day.

She parked her Bronco, and by the time she’d climbed out, a young man was strolling briskly toward her. He wore jeans, a plaid shirt, chaps and a cowboy hat—what seemed to be the uniform of a rancher.

“Can I help you?”

Maddy frowned, noting that the man’s voice sounded feminine.

The cowboy raised wide expectant eyes to her. “I’m Margaret Clemens.”

“You’re Margaret?” Maddy said aloud before she could stop herself.

Margaret removed one glove and boldly thrust out her hand. Maddy shook it briskly.

“I’m Maddy… Maddy Washburn,” she muttered, embarrassed that she hadn’t concealed her shock a little more effectively.

Margaret swept off her hat to reveal short cropped hair. Then she wiped her brow. “You the new grocer?”

Maddy nodded.

“Welcome to Buffalo County.”

“Thank you,” Maddy managed to say. “Actually, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Margaret set her hat back on her head. “Me?”

The question flustered Maddy even more. “Well, you know, we’re both women, and close in age and… well,” she faltered, afraid to say anything else.

Margaret let loose with a bull laugh and slapped Maddy hard on the back. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, too. You seem a bit… surprised.”

“You aren’t exactly what I expected.”

Thankfully she didn’t take offense at Maddy’s honesty and instead responded with another deep laugh. “Guess I’m not what most people expect. Come on inside and we can talk.” She led the way toward the house, stopping just outside the door to take off her hat again. Then she proceeded to slap the Stetson against her legs, scattering clouds of dust all around her. Finally she put the hat back on.

“Sadie gets upset if I traipse dirt into the house,” Margaret announced. “Are you clean?”

“I—I think so,” Maddy said, doing a poor job of hiding a smile.

“Good. I wouldn’t want her cussin’ you out the first time you meet.” Margaret barged into the kitchen where a plump elderly woman stood by the stove. Maddy followed.

“This is Maddy Washburn,” Margaret said. “The grocery lady.”

The other woman smiled shyly.

“You must be Sadie,” Maddy said, and stepped forward to offer the housekeeper her hand. “I got your fax and I have your groceries in the back of my truck.”

“I’ll carry those in for you,” Margaret said. “You don’t look strong enough to haul much of anything.” She started out the back door.

“I’ll help.” She hurried after Margaret, astonished at how fast the other woman moved. When she reached her car, Margaret already had the back open and had lifted the larger of the two boxes into her arms.

“Anything else?” Margaret asked.

“No…” Maddy said, walking behind her, positive that Margaret would drop something. She was carrying forty pounds without apparent effort. Sadie held the door open for Margaret, who quickly deposited the box on the kitchen table.

“You want a beer?” Margaret asked, clomping over to the refrigerator.

It was a little too early in the day for Maddy. “Do you have coffee?”

“We’ve always got coffee,” Margaret told her as she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of beer.

Sadie poured Maddy a mug of coffee and handed it to her, gesturing toward the sugar bowl, which was in the middle of the table. Maddy helped herself.

Margaret sat down and Maddy joined her. Margaret leaned back in the chair and stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankles. A half smile turned up her mouth. “Sadie doesn’t like me drinking beer in the middle of the day, but I don’t pay any attention.”

Maddy looked up and noticed the older woman frowning darkly at Margaret.

“So,” Margaret said, after taking a long deep swallow, “what do you think of North Dakota so far?”

“I like it,” Maddy returned without hesitation. “Have you lived here all your life?”

“Yup. Right here on Juniper Creek. Daddy and me raise Angus beef—some of the best in the country.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about raising cattle.”

“You stick around for a while and you’ll learn more than you ever cared to know.” She guzzled the rest of her beer and set the empty can on the table, ignoring the housekeeper’s disapproving glare.

“Dad’s been ranching nearly fifty years. He’s the oldest of seven boys, and at one time or another, each of my uncles worked here. Dad needed the help, especially after Mom died.”

“When was that?”

“I wasn’t a year old. Dad didn’t know what to do with a girl—hadn’t been around them much. But between my dad and my uncles, I turned out all right.” She straightened. “So—now you’ve met me.”

“Yes.” Maddy nodded. “I was hoping we’d have a chance to get to know each other.”

Margaret tipped her hat farther back on her head, using her index finger. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before, but I could use one.”

“What about school? Surely you had girlfriends while you were in school?”

“Didn’t attend beyond the sixth grade,” Margaret said matter-of-factly. “No need. Home-schooled. Dad taught me. Dad and my uncles. Besides, I had to stay here, help with the ranch.”

“Oh.”

“It’s become kind of a problem now, though.”

“How’s that?”

For the first time Margaret looked uncomfortable. She picked up the empty beer can and studied the writing on the side as if she’d never seen the brand name before. “There’s this guy I like.” She gave a quick shrug. “He doesn’t know I’m alive. I’ve been thinking the reason he doesn’t like me the way I like him is because he doesn’t see me as a woman.”

Recalling her own first impression, Maddy could well believe it.

“If you’re willing to be my friend, then I’m willing to be yours. Friends help each other—maybe you could help me look pretty. Like you. But don’t think it’d be all one-sided,” Margaret said. “I could teach you whatever you wanted to know about cattle. Horses, too. We’re castrating bulls tomorrow if you want to learn about that.”

“Ah…” Maddy didn’t want to be rude, but she wasn’t interested in seeing anything, bull or otherwise, castrated. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

Margaret stared at her hard for a moment, then spoke abruptly. “I have a confession to make. The guy I like? His name’s Matt, and I more than like him, I’m crazy about him. If you could show me how to get his attention, I’d be eternally grateful.”

Margaret’s girlish words and earnest tone touched Maddy’s heart. “I’d be honored to be your friend.”

“Great!” Margaret smiled broadly. “That calls for another beer.”

Fifteen minutes later, Maddy was on the road, headed for Jeb’s ranch. Never in her life had she met anyone quite like Margaret Clemens. But if Margaret was sincere about wanting Maddy as her friend, then Maddy would look forward to what they could learn from each other. Besides castrating bulls, of course.

Having saved Jeb’s ranch for last, she was disappointed to find him gone. He’d taped a note to his door, instructing her to leave his groceries in the kitchen.

His supply order had been relatively small, and she carried it inside easily enough and set the box on the counter. Then—because she couldn’t resist—she moved into the living room.

The kitchen was compact, but by contrast his living room was spacious and inviting. A big overstuffed chair was positioned next to the fireplace, an open book draped over the arm. Maddy glanced at the title and saw it was a courtroom drama she’d read herself.

Above the fireplace hung a huge picture of five or six buffalo nestled beneath a cottonwood tree in the middle of a snowstorm. Their dark hides were heavily dusted with snow. The landscape was mostly white with tufts of brownish grass poking out through the drifts.

It took her a moment to realize this was no painting but an actual photograph, and she wondered if Jeb had taken it himself. One day she’d ask him. As she stepped closer to study the image, her foot nudged something hard and she looked down to see several pieces of wood on the floor, next to the chair. There were four carvings in various stages of completion.

Crouching, Maddy examined the pieces and found them intricate and beautiful. Three were of buffalo and another was of a cowboy, his head lowered as if he carried a heavy burden of sadness. She marveled at Jeb’s talent, and knew she’d glimpsed something intimate here, something private. She sensed that he’d be embarrassed if she were to mention seeing his work.

What she’d told Lindsay recently was true. She was attracted to Jeb McKenna. Admittedly she had no business being curious about him, or his home, but she felt a strong impulse to learn exactly who he was, what he was. She recognized his pain and longed to ease it.

On impulse, Maddy reached for a piece of paper and wrote.

Hello, Jeb,

Sorry I missed seeing you. Your order’s on the counter, as you requested. If I forgot anything, let me know and I’ll include it in next week’s delivery.

I like your home. The picture over the fireplace is incredible. Again, I’m sorry I missed you.

Until next week.

Maddy Washburn

She propped the note against the salt-and-pepper shakers on the kitchen table and quietly left.

Heath Quantrill was fast losing patience with Rachel Fischer. For nearly a year now, Heath had been dating Rachel on and off—mostly off—with the hope of becoming—He stopped midthought. The hope of becoming… Damned if he knew anymore.

He pushed his chair away from the desk. Maybe that was his problem. He didn’t know what he wanted from Rachel. Then again, he did know. Only she wasn’t interested.

Last winter he’d made the mistake of taking her to dinner and making the wrong assumption about her. Okay, it’d been more than that; it’d been a definite error in judgment. And he’d been sorry ever since. He liked Rachel, enjoyed her company. She was wise and funny and she’d suffered a devastating loss. She knew. She understood.

Heath was a man who’d dealt with painful losses, too. His parents were dead, and his only brother, Max, had been killed eighteen months earlier, when he’d tried to avoid hitting a deer during a snowstorm.

Heath had been in Europe at the time, traveling from country to country without obligations, living one grand adventure after another. He was certainly in no hurry to return home. The bank his grandparents had started was in capable hands. Max had been the one with financial ability, and Heath was more than happy to let his older brother handle the business. Besides, Heath and his grandmother had argued from the time he was a teenager. He’d concluded that it was better for everyone involved if he stayed away—from the bank and from Lily Quantrill.

Then Max had died and Heath had no choice but to come home. His grandmother needed him, and to his surprise, Heath discovered he needed her, too. They were all that was left of the family. Overnight, Heath found himself responsible for the business. The Quantrills had been in banking for three generations, and there were now ten branches in as many towns and cities around the state.

As part of his training he’d taken over the management of the Buffalo Valley bank—the original location. He worked there three days a week and two days in Grand Forks at the corporate office. It was when Rachel Fischer applied for a loan to buy a pizza oven that he’d met the young widow.

At first he hadn’t given her much notice. In fact, he’d refused her loan until his grandmother had taken him to task. She’d pointed out that Rachel was willing to invest in the community when few others were doing so. That one loan had been a valuable lesson. His grandmother had insisted all his schooling wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good unless he learned to look at loan applications with his head and his heart.

He’d frequently looked at Rachel with his heart in the months since. Their first date had ended in disaster. Heath knew she was attracted to him, and frankly it was mutual; as a result, he’d said some things that would’ve been better left unsaid. Afterward they’d ignored each other. Okay, she’d ignored him and he’d pretended to ignore her.

Being rejected by a woman was a new experience for him. She’d been serious about it, too. Time had proved it wasn’t just a ploy or a trick to keep him interested. Quite simply, she didn’t want what he was offering. Once he was able to set his ego aside, Heath had asked Rachel for a second chance, which she’d granted, and to date, eight months later, he’d been a perfect gentleman. He’d challenge anyone to fault his manners.

Twice now he’d taken her to dinner with his grandmother. He’d spent time with Mark, Rachel’s ten-year-old son. He’d gone out of his way to prove himself and the sincerity of his intentions. He just didn’t know how much longer he was going to have to do penance.

Rachel’s small restaurant was situated where her parents had once operated the Morningside Café. She’d started out making and delivering pizzas on weekends; demand had escalated to the point that she now opened the place five nights a week. No one was more surprised than Rachel herself at this success.

The first time Heath tasted her pizza, nearly a year ago, he knew she had a winner. Rachel prepared her own sauce from the tomatoes that grew in her garden, and the crust was completely homemade. As soon as she got her bank loan, she’d purchased an oven, and she was in business.

In the past year, she’d managed to pay off the pizza oven and purchase ten new tables and chairs. She’d renamed the restaurant The Pizza Parlor. Needless to say, pizza was her specialty, but she also made lasagna—the world’s best. He should know; he’d eaten enough of it.

Heath was the last one to leave the bank. After he’d locked up, he paused at his car and looked down Main Street. He couldn’t be in Buffalo Valley and not think of Rachel. Not that it did him much good.

Oh, they dated occasionally. Very occasionally. With the restaurant open five nights a week, that left only Sunday and Monday evenings free, and she insisted those were her nights with her son.

In other words, she didn’t have time for him.

He’d say one thing for her: She certainly knew how to hurt a man’s ego. Every other woman he’d dated since his return had been flattering and eager for his company. Yet after two or three dates with anyone but Rachel, he simply grew bored.

Taking his briefcase, he walked over to the restaurant, certain he was setting himself up for another disappointment.

“Hello, Heath,” Rachel called out when she saw him. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been busy.” He picked up the menu, although he already knew what he wanted. “How’s the lasagna today?”

“Good as always,” she promised, emerging from the kitchen, water pitcher in hand.

“That’s what I’ll have,” he said. “Everything going okay?”

She nodded. “Wendy Curtis is working for me now.”

Heath wasn’t familiar with the name.

“She’s from a farm outside Bellmont,” Rachel explained. “They grow mostly wheat, some soybeans. Wendy’s kids are in school now, and I hired her part-time in September.”

“Business must be good.”

“Very good.” She filled his water glass. “You want ranch dressing on your dinner salad?”

“Please. Still driving the school bus?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. She’d stopped doing that around the same time she stopped doing the books for Hassie Knight. Giving up those jobs had been an act of faith for her. Her entire income now came from the restaurant and what she collected from Social Security. He’d asked the question because he craved conversation with her; he wanted to hear something that would tell him he’d been in her thoughts, too. Their last official date had been in July, following Lindsay and Gage’s wedding, and he’d gone out with five or six women since then. Not one of them held his interest or stayed on his mind the way Rachel did.

“Janice Moser’s driving the school bus these days,” she told him. Rachel disappeared and returned a few minutes later with his salad and a basket of bread sticks. “Your lasagna will be ready soon.”

“Do you have time to chat?” he asked. It wasn’t as though she was busy right now. It was only a little after five, early even for him.

“Sure.”

He pulled out the other chair for her. She sat down, folding her hands demurely.

“How’s Mark?”

“Fine. Leta Betts watches him for me. It works out all around. She said she’d go stir-crazy nights if it wasn’t for Mark keeping her company. Says it gives her a reason to cook dinner.”

“How’s Kevin liking art school?” Heath asked.

“So far so good,” she said.

Reaching across the table, Heath took one of Rachel’s hands. He opened her palm and studied the lines but they told him nothing. Unfortunately he couldn’t read fortunes, hers or his.

“How about dinner Sunday night?” he suggested. “Just the two of us.”

“I can’t,” she said without pause. “We’ve been through this before. Sunday evening is my time with Mark.”

“It isn’t that you can’t, you won’t.”

“Fine, I won’t, then,” she said. The chair made a scraping sound as she stood. “Besides I thought you were dating Tammy Zimmerman.”

So Rachel was paying attention. Heath had wondered.

“We went out a couple of times,” he admitted. “She’s free on Sunday nights.”

“However, I’m not,” she said and quickly retreated into the kitchen.

Heath was forced to wait several minutes before she returned, this time with his dinner. She set the steaming plate of lasagna in front of him and wordlessly turned away.

“You’re avoiding me, Rachel,” he said, watching her.

She froze, her back to him. Slowly she turned around. “I am not.”

“Why won’t you go out with me?”

She shook her head as if he were the saddest excuse for a man she’d ever seen. “Your problem, Heath Quantrill, is that you’re spoiled rotten. Everyone’s catered to you your entire life. I won’t, so get used to it.”

“Whatever,” he said with no emotion. “But if you aren’t avoiding me, then you set a time and day.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

“Could it be that what I said is true?”

“Saturday morning at eight,” she snapped. “You can take me to breakfast.”

“Fine,” he murmured, feeling a sense of triumph. “I’ll come by the house to pick you up.”