Debbie Macomber - Dakota Home

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.