Always Dakota (4 page)

He found Margaret inside the huge structure that put his own barn to shame. She was dressed in a heavy coat and thick boots; a knit cap covered her head. Her hair, which she’d grown over the past year, was pulled away from her face and tied at the base of her neck. He could see she’d had it curled. Working at a fast and furious pace, she pitched hay into an empty stall, her back toward him. Matt breathed in the satisfying scents of horses, straw and well-oiled leather.

“Margaret,” Matt called softly, not wanting to frighten her.

She whirled around and when she saw him, she stood transfixed, as if she’d been waiting for exactly this moment for a very long time. “Matt!”

“I wanted to stop by and tell you how sorry I am about your father.”

She stared at him with wide, adoring eyes, then raised her sleeve to her red nose, cheeks ruddy with exertion. So it was true, what Bernard had said—she was in love with him. But despite Sheryl’s urging, he refused to do anything about it. He wouldn’t lead Margaret to believe he reciprocated her feelings—or that they had any kind of future.

“I knew you’d come,” she whispered.

He looked away, embarrassed that it’d taken him three weeks to make an appearance. “I meant to get here before this.”

Her timid smile forgave him and he wanted to kick himself. Sheryl was right, even if her reasons were wrong; he should have come earlier.

“Your father was highly thought of around here.”

Margaret nodded, and he could see by the way her lip trembled that she was fighting back emotion. “I miss him something fierce.”

“I know you do.” Matt remembered when his own father died. He’d been fifteen, an age when it was difficult to express grief. He’d feared that if other kids saw him cry, they’d call him a sissy, so he’d lashed out at his mother. Why, he didn’t know. Probably because his parents had divorced and he’d blamed her, always blamed her. She never knew—or perhaps she did—that he’d been the person who’d slashed her tires. He’d done it in a fit of rage, and that had been the beginning of trouble for him. Before he was out of his teen years, he’d had more than one scrape with the law.

Now his mother, too, was dead, and he carried a double load of grief—and guilt. He didn’t think about his parents much, not anymore, but the memories never quite left him.

“Would you like to come inside?”

Her eyes were hopeful, and Matt didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.

“I’d offer you a beer, but Maddy told me—” She closed her mouth abruptly and blushed. “Sadie keeps a pot of coffee on all day.”

“Coffee would be fine. I can’t stay long.” Especially if Sadie was going to be giving him the evil eye. What had Maddy told her? he wondered next. That he drank too much? That he couldn’t be trusted? Obviously, his reputation had preceded him.

Margaret led the way into the house, stopping just inside the heated porch to remove her jacket and boots; he did the same. She opened the kitchen door and they were greeted by an array of warm, inviting smells. Matt glanced around, relieved that Sadie was nowhere in sight.

Matt noted the coveralls Margaret wore. They were shapeless and about the most unflattering piece of clothing she could have chosen. Yet when she stood on tiptoe to reach for a cup in the top cupboard, he was stunned to see that she had a halfway decent body.

Scolding himself, Matt forced his gaze elsewhere.

“Sadie bakes the most delicious cookies,” she told him as she opened the cookie jar and placed a dozen or so on a china plate. “I’d suggest we sit in the den, but neither of us is dressed for it.”

Margaret slowly approached the table, carrying a serving tray with two small china cups, sugar, cream and the plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“I’ll pour,” she announced grandly, as if this feat required unusual skill. She left and returned with the coffeepot and filled each floral-patterned cup to the brim, then smiled hesitantly, apparently awaiting his approval.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, uncertain what was expected of him. He felt nervous even touching the dainty porcelain cup, afraid he might snap off the delicate handle.

“This set belonged to my mother,” Margaret explained as she sat across the table from him.

“It’s very nice.”

“It’s all I have of her, except for the jewelry my father gave her, but I’ve never worn any of that.”

Rather than risk breaking the cup, Matt gingerly lifted it with both hands. There was a long silence. “I hope you’re adjusting,” he finally blurted out. “To your father’s death, I mean.”

Margaret didn’t reply right away, then said, “I’m trying.”

“Is there anything I can do?” His gaze held hers. He was surprised to realize what pretty eyes she had. Huge. A startling dark blue. Glossy black lashes. She stared at him, her expression completely rapt. Meeting her eyes for any length of time proved disconcerting and he promptly looked elsewhere. The girl had it bad, he thought with a sinking sensation. He wanted to warn her off, tell her she was making a mistake, but he couldn’t find the words. The women he dated knew the score, but Margaret was as innocent as a newborn calf. Naive, too, and completely inexperienced; that was obvious. What he needed to do was leave, and the sooner the better.

“I appreciate the offer, but there’s nothing anyone can do,” Margaret told him.

It took Matt a moment to realize she was answering his question. He nodded. “Well…”

“The ranch is going to be all right,” she went on.

Matt took a discreet sip of his coffee. “If you find you need anything, let me know.”

Now it was her turn to nod. “I will. Thank you for offering.”

“I’m sincere, Margaret,” he surprised himself by saying. “You’re a capable rancher and I don’t mean to imply otherwise, but there are times when neighbors need to rely on one another. I’m here for you, understand?” He told himself he would have said the same thing to any local rancher who’d suffered a loss or some sort of crisis.

“And I’m here for you,” she said in a low voice.

Matt downed the last of his coffee in one gulp, eager to be on his way. He’d stayed longer than he wanted, longer than required.

“You’re leaving?” she blurted.

“It’s time I headed out,” he said. Matt could tell she was disappointed, but she didn’t employ any clever means of detaining him. That was one of Sheryl’s tricks. He’d make noises about going home and she’d find some excuse to keep him with her. He had to give her credit; she was inventive—and often very sexy. Lately he’d been more conscious of her efforts and had become amused at the things she’d said and done to delay him. Sheryl could be one manipulative little devil.

“I’ll walk you to your truck,” Margaret told him, taking the coffee cups and tray to the kitchen counter.

He started to tell her that wasn’t necessary, then changed his mind. Being stared at by a woman’s adoring eyes was a flattering sensation, and Matt wasn’t beyond enjoying it.

Margaret quickly put her mud-caked boots back on her feet. She buttoned her coat all the way to her chin and stuck a knit cap on her head without any concern about what it did to her hair.

“I appreciate your stopping by,” she told him as they reached the truck.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“I am, too.” She blushed then, as if she regretted having said this.

“If you’d like, I could stop by again.”

Her eyes flared with excitement. “I wish you would.”

Matt wasn’t sure what had prompted the offer. His ranch adjoined the Clemens property but this was only the second time he’d come to the house. Dropping by unannounced wasn’t a habit he planned to cultivate.

“Come any time,” she added, “any time at all.” She sounded so pleased and excited.

What happened then was something Matt would always wonder about. One moment he was preparing to climb into his truck and the next he’d wrapped his arms around Margaret Clemens the way he would Sheryl. He kissed her. He wasn’t sure why—curiosity, he supposed. He couldn’t keep himself from finding out what it would be like to kiss her. Since she hadn’t expected a kiss, it wasn’t fair to judge. But he did, mainly because he was kind of shocked. As kisses went, it was pretty good. No, damn good. Uncomplicated and—he hated to use this word—sweet. With other women, those with experience, a kiss was never simple. It involved tongues and teeth and it was often explosive with passion and need. A kiss hadn’t been innocent for him in a very long while.

He broke it off and released her. Margaret faltered and would have stumbled backward if he hadn’t caught her by the shoulders.

An apology would be appropriate, but he wasn’t sorry. If he was anything, it was confused.

“I’ll check up on you later in the week,” he managed to say.

She nodded and pressed the back of her hand to her lips. Her eyes were wide and jubilant, her lashes fluttering as if she didn’t know how to react.

Matt drove out of the yard and was halfway down the driveway when he glanced in his rearview mirror. Margaret stood there unmoving, her hand still against her lips, staring after him.

“That’s it,” Matt said aloud, shaken and bewildered by his own actions. “I’m not coming back. Not for anything.”

Calla Stern had expected her troubles to be over when she moved in with her father in Minneapolis. Her mother and Dennis Urlacher had publicly announced their engagement and hadn’t even bothered to let her know beforehand. Although she supposed if they
had
approached her, it would have been a wasted effort. She wanted nothing to do with Dennis, and no way did she want to be part of their perfect little family. Not in this lifetime!

Calla had always disliked Dennis. If it wasn’t for Dennis, she told herself, her parents might have reconciled when she was younger. She detested them both—Dennis and her mother—for the things they’d done, sneaking around, pretending no one knew they were having an affair. When Calla learned that her mother wasn’t even divorced at the time, she’d felt sickened by their disgusting behavior. Later, she’d been insulted and furious that they’d decided to get married and completely excluded her from their plans. Obviously they didn’t want her in their lives. Well, that was fine with her; Buffalo Valley was such a hick town and she’d wanted to get out of there, anyway. So it seemed fitting that she’d run away the night Dennis and her mother announced their engagement.

Living with her father, however, had turned out to be less than ideal. She’d been five when her parents separated, and her memories of Willie Stern had been hazy. Over the past eleven years he’d sent her the occasional postcard and intermittently kept in touch. Without realizing it, Calla had placed him on a pedestal—from which he’d quickly tumbled. Her view of Willie Stern had completely changed by the end of her first week with him.

Despite that, she still felt she’d had no choice. After her mother decided to marry Dennis, Calla had packed her bags, borrowed her grandfather’s truck and driven into Grand Forks, where she caught the bus to Minneapolis. It would be an understatement to say that Willie was surprised by her sudden appearance on his doorstep, but he’d let her move in with him.

For the first time in conscious memory, Calla had the opportunity to live in a real city with shopping malls, brand-name clothing stores and a school with more than twenty-five students. She didn’t need to order an outfit on the Internet or from a catalogue but could walk into a store and try it on in a real dressing room. She had the opportunity to meet lots of other kids her own age, not just a handful. It didn’t matter that her father had been such a bitter disappointment. Soon after her arrival she’d run away from Willie’s place, but when her mother and Dennis came to collect her, she’d chosen to go back with her father rather than return to Buffalo Valley. She could put up with Willie more easily than she could accept the idea of Dennis Urlacher as her stepfather.

“You get those floors mopped?” Jason Jefferies asked.

Jason was only a year older than she was, but he was the manager of the BurgerHaven where Calla worked part-time. “Didn’t you notice? I finished half an hour ago,” she said, unable to contain her sarcasm.

“Don’t give me attitude,” Jason snapped. “I got three friends who’d jump at the chance to work here. You give me a reason to fire you, Calla, and you’re outta here.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a falsely sweet smile. Much as she hated to admit it, she needed this job. Her father’s income was erratic, its source questionable. And he sure didn’t share it with her. The reverse, in fact. Not waiting for a response, she turned and walked away.

Willie wasn’t the only disappointment Calla had to face. The high school back in Buffalo Valley had twenty-five students. Twenty-five. The one she attended in Minneapolis had over three thousand—more people than lived in her hometown
and
the surrounding county. Finding her way from classroom to classroom before the bell rang was a major challenge. She’d already gotten nine tardy slips. One more and she’d be ordered to afternoon detention.

One teacher, Mr. Simon, had been totally unreasonable. She had swimming in fifth period, and her sixth-period algebra class was on the third floor in the east wing. A sprinter couldn’t have covered that distance in five minutes! Mr. Simon docked her grade one full point every time she was late, and that was totally unfair. Her jaw tightened whenever she thought about it. The only classes in which she got decent grades were art and drama, because she’d volunteered to sew costumes for the senior production. They were doing
The Importance of Being Earnest,
and that meant lots of intricate Victorian dresses. Calla could lose herself in working with the patterns and fabric, in getting the details perfect.