Debbie Macomber - Dakota Born

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.

Gage Sinclair had spent the morning riding the field cultivator down the long rows of maturing corn. He had nearly a thousand acres planted in corn, two hundred less than the previous year. If the weather held, he could expect to clear a hundred bushels per acre, but if there was one thing he’d learned in his years of farming, it was not to count his bushels before the harvest.

His mother was waiting for him when he parked the cultivator and climbed down. Days like this he had a thirst that wouldn’t quit. He’d taken a half gallon of iced tea with him, but that had disappeared quickly.

“Lunch is ready,” she called when she saw him.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he called back, looking around for his half brother.

Gage hadn’t seen Kevin all morning, and he suspected the boy had stolen away to be with Jessica again.

Gage washed up, then walked into the kitchen, inhaling the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread. His mother routinely baked bread and cinnamon rolls on Saturday mornings.

“Where’s Kevin?” he asked, pulling out a chair.

Leta glanced up, surprised. “I thought he was with you.”

“I told him to change the oil in the pick-up when he finished his chores,” he said between enormous bites of his sandwich. It’d been eight hours since he’d last eaten and he felt hollow inside. It was going to take more than a couple of roasted chicken sandwiches to fill him up.

“He did that a couple of hours ago.” Leta turned her back to him and busied herself with something he couldn’t see, but Gage wasn’t fooled.