Debbie Macomber - Dakota Born

Brandon Wyatt sat in the bar off the restaurant in the 3 OF A KIND, and Gage climbed onto the stool next to his friend and neighbor. The place was dim and mercifully cool, and he could hear Garth Brooks in the background.

“Get you a beer?” Buffalo Bob asked him.

Gage nodded. Bob—ex-biker and now the owner of this establishment—was the only man Gage knew who wore his hair in a ponytail. For that matter, he wore a black leather vest year-round. Still had a Harley, too.

“Howdy, neighbor,” Gage said to Brandon.

Brandon glanced over at him. “Good to see you.”

“You, too,” Gage said. He’d known Brandon his entire life. Their properties adjoined each other and they’d shared just about everything farmers do over the years.

“How’re Joanie and the kids?” Gage asked, raising the cold beer bottle to his lips. He hadn’t seen Brandon for some time. Joanie used to stop at the farmhouse once a week or so, but come to think of it, Gage hadn’t seen her in a while, either.

“Everyone’s fine.”

It was the clipped way Brandon said it that alerted Gage to trouble. He stared at his friend and wondered if he should ask. He decided against it. Brandon would come to him if he wanted advice, which he seldom did. That wasn’t how they did things. They were independent men who mostly kept their own counsel. As far as friends went, Brandon was about the closest one Gage had, but they rarely spoke, rarely spent time together. If he needed anything, though, he could count on Brandon, just like his neighbor could count on him.

They’d gotten together more often before Brandon married Joanie, but that had been eight or nine years ago. Brandon had gone to Fargo to buy a new tractor and the following weekend had found an excuse to return to the city. Soon he was spending as much time there as he was on his own farm. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out there was a woman involved. Within the year, Joanie and Brandon were married. A daughter and son followed soon after, a little more than two years apart. They were eight and six if he remembered right. Cute kids.

Gage didn’t know Joanie all that well, but from remarks his mother let drop, he suspected she hadn’t made the transition to farm life as easily as the couple had hoped. Life on a North Dakota farm could get desperately lonely for women, especially in the winter months when it wasn’t unheard-of to go two or three weeks without even leaving the house. Women, especially women not born to this life, seemed to think that sounded romantic until they experienced it themselves.

Gage’s mind wandered away from Brandon and Joanie to the two women visiting at Hassie’s. Both seemed vibrant and full of energy. He’d have to be a dead man not to notice. Over the years, Gage had given some thought to marriage but time and opportunity had worked against him. It wasn’t like single women were exactly plentiful around here.

He had to be realistic, and his chances of meeting someone in Buffalo Valley were slim to none. All that meant was that he had to venture farther afield. He had to be realistic in other ways, too. He wasn’t going to appear on any of those he-man calendars, but he was fairly good-looking. He possessed a strong work ethic and had a powerful sense of what was important. True, he was responsible for his mother and Kevin, but if he did find a woman willing to marry him, he’d take the necessary steps to care for their needs and see to his own and his wife’s, as well.

As far as he knew, there were only three eligible women in the vicinity and he’d known them his entire life. Sarah Stern—used to be McKenna—was one, but she had something going with Dennis Urlacher and that put her off-limits. Margaret Clemens was the second possibility. She was a rancher, and she worked the land with her father. The Clemens family had one of the most prosperous herds in the state on their Triple C spread.

Margaret was complicated, though. She might be a woman, but she’d never dressed or acted like one. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she cursed and chewed right along with the hired hands.

The last was Rachel Fischer, a widow with a ten-year-old son. He’d given some serious thought to asking her out, but while he liked her—admired her, even—he didn’t feel any strong attraction toward her. Of the three women, he liked Rachel best and respected her for staying in Buffalo Valley when her parents had closed down their restaurant and moved south. Her husband had died of leukemia when the boy was about six. Her parents had helped as much as they could, but money had been tight and gotten tighter. Gage knew she’d been tempted to leave with them, but for the sake of her son, she’d remained in town, thinking he’d had enough trauma and disruption in his young life without being uprooted from everything familiar. A decision that took courage.

The fact was, not one of those women really appealed to him physically, and if he was going to all the effort of seeking one out, he should feel something .

He believed that when he did meet the right woman he’d know, but at thirty-five, Gage suspected it might be too late.

“Who’s that over at Hassie’s?” Buffalo Bob asked. He’d tossed a dish towel over his shoulder and eyed the Bronco parked across the street.

“Anton and Gina Snyder’s granddaughter. She’s in town with a friend,” Gage told him. “They used to live here, the Snyders. Hassie seems to think the ladies’ll put up here for the night.”

That information cheered Buffalo Bob. “Great, I could use the business.”

Gage suspected they’d be among the few guests the hotel had all summer. “She going to be the new teacher?” Buffalo Bob asked next.

The thought hadn’t occurred to Gage. “I doubt it.”

With a morose and uncommunicative Brandon Wyatt sitting next to him, Gage finished off his beer and ordered a second. Again and again, his gaze was drawn across the street.

A couple of times he thought he heard the sound of women’s laughter coming from Hassie’s, but he could have imagined it. His imagination seemed to have shifted into overdrive, and his head was filled with thoughts of Lindsay Snyder. He couldn’t recall the other woman’s name now.

Lindsay’s blue eyes had sparkled with laughter and during those few seconds they’d stared at each other, he could almost feel the joy bubbling just beneath the surface. Within those few seconds he’d recognized that she was someone he’d like to know better. But there was no reason for her to stay; by morning she’d be back on the road.

A deep loneliness came over him. Gage had experienced it before; and life had taught him that, given time, it would pass. Life had taught him something else, too. The land demanded a farmer’s first allegiance and wouldn’t lightly accept his sharing that love and loyalty with another. This was a lesson Brandon was only now beginning to understand, and Gage intended to learn from his neighbor’s mistakes.

Joanie Wyatt sat alone in the darkened room. She hadn’t meant to fight with her husband. The truth was, she’d been hoping for a romantic afternoon—just the two of them. The grandfather clock chimed midnight, the sound as bleak as her thoughts. It was useless to try to sleep. Not that their disagreement seemed to bother Brandon, who’d been asleep for nearly two hours.

She’d asked him to come into town with her. It was a small thing, but they had almost no time alone these days. Sage and Stevie were attending Billy Nobel’s birthday party in Bellmont, which gave them a rare free afternoon. She’d been the one to suggest they buy groceries and then stop at Buffalo Bob’s for a beer.

All either of them did these days was work. Joanie had planted a huge, ambitious garden, and found herself spending hours every day looking after it. What had started as an experiment, a pleasure, had developed over the years into a necessity and now a chore. It made sense to raise as much of their own food as possible, seeing that they had the land. Then there was Princess to milk and chickens to feed and in the past year they’d added pigs. Thankfully Brandon did the butchering, but the care of the animals had become part of her duties.