Always Dakota (5 page)

Jason dimmed the lights and was ready to close the BurgerHaven.

Swallowing her pride, Calla approached him. “Any chance you could give me a ride home?”

He didn’t like doing it, she knew, but waiting for the bus by herself unnerved her. A couple of men had harassed her one night, and she’d had nightmares about it ever since. She hated to ask Jason for a ride, but she didn’t have any other means of getting home, besides the bus.

“You’ll have to pay.”

Calla nodded. What a jerk. He collected an hour’s wages for driving her one block out of his way. If he charged her any more, she might as well take a taxi.

Jason wasn’t the talkative sort and they rode in silence. Calla had hoped to make friends before now, but it hadn’t happened. School had been in session nearly three months, and she didn’t have one friend. Not even one. Trying to get to class on time was difficult enough.

Her father was sprawled in front of the television when she let herself into the apartment. She brought the mail and the free neighborhood newspaper in with her.

“You bring me anything?” he asked, not moving his gaze from the television screen.

“Not tonight.”

That got his attention. “They throw away all the stuff that doesn’t get sold, so why the hell not bring me a taco burger?”

Calla wondered if it ever occurred to him that they might not
have
leftovers. “There weren’t any,” she said, tired and out of sorts.
It’s after ten,
she wanted to scream.
Leave me alone!

“Damn! I was all set for a taco burger, too. I don’t suppose you could get me dinner?” He looked beseechingly toward her.

Like she was a magician and could pull a decent meal out of a top hat. “Get you dinner?” she repeated. “With what?”

He leaned back and dug into his pants pocket and tossed her his car keys. “With these.”

Calla left the keys on the floor where they’d fallen. She set down her books and sorted through the mail, although it was mostly dunning letters from bill collectors and a few advertising circulars. She paused when she saw the envelope with her mother’s familiar writing. This wasn’t the first letter she’d received, and her reaction was always the same—hope and excitement. Even though she didn’t
want
to feel anything for her mother.

Sarah Stern had lied to her, and Calla refused to forgive her—for that and a truckload of other faults. The biggest of which was marrying Dennis Urlacher.

“You going or not?” her father demanded.

Calla barely heard him. A wave of homesickness threatened to drown her. She missed Buffalo Valley, missed her friends and her old job at The Pizza Parlor and even her old school. Her mother had ruined everything by marrying Dennis. Calla’s entire life had been stolen from her and it was their fault.

“What’s that?” Willie asked.

“A letter from Mom.”

“She send me any money?”

Calla rolled her eyes. Willie insisted that if Sarah wasn’t paying him the child support he thought he was entitled to, then Calla had to pay rent. Therefore, Calla paid rent.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

“Yes,” she said, and headed toward her bedroom. When she did read the letter, she had no intention of doing it in front of him.

Sitting on the side of her bed, Calla stared at the envelope. It was thick, as if it included something extra. Her curiosity got the better of her and she tore it open. Inside were an airline ticket and a letter. She unfolded the letter.

“What did she have to say?” Willie asked, standing in her bedroom doorway.

“Nothing,” Calla muttered, stuffing the letter inside her backpack.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the airline ticket she’d set beside her on the bed.

“A ticket.”

He laughed. “Home for Thanksgiving, right?”

Calla didn’t answer.

“Home sweet home with Mommy and her new husband. You’re not going, are you?”

“I haven’t decided.”

He glared at her. “I was hoping you and I could spend the day together.”

Calla recognized that for the bribe it was.

“It’ll be the first Thanksgiving we’ve had in eleven years. You aren’t walking out on me now, are you, kid?”

“I said I hadn’t made up my mind yet.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed. “Did she tell you she’s pregnant?”

Calla’s gaze flew to her father. He was baiting her and she refused to bite. It would be just like Willie to make this up, but at the same time Calla knew that Dennis wanted a family. She supposed her mother
could
be pregnant. Still, she wasn’t sure she could trust Willie.

“She told me so herself,” he muttered.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ask her, then. She was saving it as a big secret, but she spilled the beans last time she called.”

Calla frowned uncertainly. Her father had a habit of lying, of saying exactly what she wanted to hear. Or
didn’t
want to hear, depending on the reaction he was after.

“I’ll tell you what,” Willie said, sounding bored with the subject. “You do what you want for Thanksgiving. Stay or go, it’s up to you. But as for your mother having a baby, ask yourself what you think is true.” With that, he left.

Calla stared down at the airline ticket. Then, with a deep sigh, jumped to her feet and threw it onto the rickety dresser beside the bed.

Her mother had made her choice, and she’d picked Dennis Urlacher over her.

R
achel Fischer sat in a corner of her restaurant kitchen, where she kept her computer and desk. Writing out a check for the final payment of her loan from the Buffalo County Bank, she signed her name with a flair—and a deep sense of satisfaction. She ripped the check from the book, then stared at it, absorbing the significance of the moment. From this point forward, she was out of debt and free to pursue a relationship with Heath Quantrill, the bank president.

With the last of her bills paid for the month, she put on her hat and coat and headed for the bank. She walked briskly, facing the wind. Normally, the cold cut straight through her, but not today. She hadn’t seen Heath in a few weeks and looked forward to personally handing him the check.

He served as the senior loan officer and manager and worked at the Buffalo Valley branch three days a week, spending the other two at the bank’s headquarters in Grand Forks.

Rachel and Heath had an on-again/off-again relationship that she’d wasted copious hours analyzing. But over the summer their romance had grown serious and they saw one another exclusively. Since Rachel was a widow, much of her time went into supporting herself and her son. Heath wanted her to go out with him more often, but that was impossible and often a source of conflict. He’d suggested that if she invested as much time in their relationship as she did in her business, she need never worry about working again. The memory of that conversation infuriated her whenever she thought about it.

This past year had been difficult for them. She’d expanded both the hours and the menu of her weekend pizza delivery service—to reasonably consistent success. After paying off her original loan—for the pizza oven—she’d borrowed from the bank again to purchase tables and chairs and had turned her restaurant into a sit-down place serving dinner five days a week.

Her parents owned the building, so her rent was low. They’d operated the Morningside Café for many years, until the diner simply couldn’t survive in such a difficult economic climate. It’d broken her mother’s heart to leave Buffalo Valley and she’d pleaded with Rachel to join them in Arizona.

A recent widow at the time, Rachel had debated long and hard about uprooting her young son, and eventually decided against it. Mark had endured enough upheaval in his life after the loss of his father. Besides, every book she’d read on widowhood suggested she delay making a major decision for at least twelve months.

In order to support herself, Rachel drove the school bus and worked as a part-time bookkeeper for Knight’s Pharmacy. She was barely scraping by when she came up with the idea of starting her own pizza parlor. Actually, it was her son who’d made the suggestion, claiming her homemade pizza was better than the pizza he’d eaten in a fast-food restaurant at a friend’s birthday party in Grand Forks.

That was when she’d first met Heath Quantrill. Business plan in hand, she’d gone to the bank to apply for a loan. Heath had read over her application, and then, with barely a pause, refused her. True, she had nothing for collateral, although she’d offered her wedding band. She realized that on paper her business venture didn’t look promising, but she was young, healthy, ambitious and determined. In addition, she’d been around the restaurant business her entire life. Heath had taken none of that into account.

The next few days had been bleak ones for Rachel. Then, to her amazement, Heath had phoned and announced he’d changed his mind. He’d never actually told her why, but she had her suspicions. Hassie Knight was good friends with Lily Quantrill, Heath’s grandmother, and Rachel strongly suspected that Hassie had mentioned the loan to Lily, who had persuaded Heath to relent. Knowing Lily, she didn’t think the persuasion had been of the gentle variety.

The bank was busy when Rachel walked in. Both tellers had lineups. Joanie Wyatt was there with her toddler son, and Steve Baylor, a local farmer, stood behind her. Even before she’d opened her restaurant, Rachel knew everyone in town. That wasn’t saying much, though, since almost everyone knew everyone else. It was one of the advantages of living in a small town. And one of the disadvantages—when tongues wagged and other people got involved in her personal business. But for the most part she considered it a blessing.

Heath, who was in his private office, was chatting with Carl Hooper, the manager of the JCPenney catalogue store. His door was half-open, and he glanced up when she came into the bank. He smiled, clearly pleased to see her.

Content to wait, Rachel took a chair. The bank was the only brick building in town, and one of the nicest, inside and out. Heath’s grandparents had founded Buffalo County Bank shortly after World War II and over the years had expanded to ten branches across the state. Their only son and his wife had died within a short time of each other, leaving two sons, Max and Heath. The elder, Max, was the one who’d revealed an interest in the business and Lily, by now a widow, was grooming him to take over as president. Then Max had been killed in a car crash, and Heath, the playboy adventurer, had returned from Europe to take his brother’s place. It hadn’t been easy to step into Max’s shoes, and Heath had struggled with finding his own path these past few years.

Carl Hooper left five minutes later and Rachel sprang from her seat, then walked into Heath’s office, approaching his desk.

“Hello,” he said, standing to greet her. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.” Oddly, she felt almost shy now that she actually faced him. They stared at each other a moment before Rachel explained the purpose of her visit. “I have two things for you,” she announced, pulling out the chair recently vacated by Carl Hooper.

“Two?” Heath raised his brows and sat down himself.

“First of all,” she said, opening her purse, “this, as far as I’m aware, is the final payment on my second loan.” She handed him the check, stretching her arm across his desk.

“And as far as I’m aware, you’re right,” Heath said as he took her check. He looked expectantly back at her.

“Also,” she said, feeling flustered and excited, “I have an answer for you.”

“Really.” His voice became suspiciously unemotional. They’d talked about marriage a number of times, but Rachel had always managed to put him off. It didn’t seem right to accept an engagement ring while she owed him money. Now the loan was paid off, she felt free to change that.

“I love you, Heath,” she whispered, wishing she’d chosen the time and place more carefully. In her excitement, she’d rushed to the bank without careful thought. This
was
a public place, after all—not to mention that Heath’s office door was still half-open.

“And?” he prodded.

“Aren’t you going to tell me you love me, too?” she asked, thinking it was within his power to make this easier.

“No. If you don’t know my feelings by now, then my telling you isn’t going to make a damn bit of difference.”

She could tell he was enjoying himself. He’d leaned back against his leather chair, playing the role of bank president to the hilt.

“If that’s the case, I just might change my mind.”

“Before you do, tell me what’s
on
your mind,” he cajoled.

Rachel figured he was entitled to that much. “Being your wife.”

A smile exploded across his face, and he released a long, deep sigh. “At last.”

Rachel agreed; it had been a long time coming, but now she was sure this was what she wanted, what was right for Heath, and for her and Mark.

“What took you so long?” he asked, coming around to her side of the desk.

He didn’t know? Hadn’t figured it out himself? “I made the last payment,” she said, standing to meet him. “I couldn’t agree to become your wife while I owed you money.”

“Sure, you could have,” he argued and then, right there in front of anyone who cared to look, he kissed her.

Rachel quickly became absorbed in the kiss, twining her arms around his neck, but not so absorbed that she didn’t notice how quiet the bank had become. When Heath broke off the kiss, he gently disengaged her and hurried to his door. Flinging it wide-open, he called out, “We’re engaged!”

His announcement was instantly followed by a chorus of congratulations and applause from staff and customers alike. Just as quickly the questions came.

“When’s the wedding?”

“Does Lily know?”

“You aren’t closing down The Pizza Parlor, are you?”

“You’re going to live in Buffalo Valley, right?”

Rachel and Heath glanced at each other, but they didn’t seem to have any ready answers. At least Rachel didn’t.

“The wedding’s soon. Very soon,” Heath insisted, his arm around Rachel’s slim waist. “Right?”

Rachel blushed and nodded.

“We’ll tell Lily this evening,” Heath continued, and once more looked to her for confirmation.

“I won’t be closing the restaurant,” she added. This had been the subject of repeated arguments between her and Heath. He didn’t want her to work, but the restaurant was
hers
and she wasn’t willing to give it up simply because she was marrying a wealthy man, although she did plan on hiring extra help.

“You won’t?” Heath sounded surprised.

“No,” she returned and elbowed him in the ribs.

“They aren’t even married yet,” Steve Baylor cried, “and they’re already arguing.”

“Every couple has issues they need to settle,” Joanie Wyatt said calmly. Joanie should know; she’d recently reconciled with her husband after a yearlong separation. She and her husband, Brandon, were a good example of a couple who’d worked through the problems in their marriage.

“Rachel wants to stay right here in Buffalo Valley,” Heath told everyone.

“I do,” she concurred. She hadn’t said anything to Heath yet, but she could see several needs arising in the community, prime business opportunities. With the success of her restaurant and Sarah’s quilting company, Buffalo Valley was badly in need of a day-care center. Now that she had five full-time employees sewing for her, Sarah was expecting more women to come into town—some to buy quilts and some, eventually, to work for her. All of this meant the bank’s, and therefore Heath’s, increasing involvement with the town.

“You gonna kiss her again?” Steve asked.

Heath laughed. “I plan to do a lot more than kiss her. Come on,” he said to Rachel, reaching for her hand. “If there was ever a time for a celebration lunch, this is it.”

Rachel couldn’t agree more.

Matt Eilers had kissed her. Even a week later, Margaret could hardly believe it had actually happened. In bed at night, she closed her eyes and relived the kiss. Nothing in the world could be more wonderful than Matt’s wanting her.

Sure, she’d been kissed before. Well…once. By a ranch hand employed by her father.
Briefly
employed. She’d been sixteen, physically underdeveloped, and as naive as they come. She was an adult now and eager to have Matt introduce her to adult experience. To show her what being a woman really meant.

For seven days she’d kept the kissing incident to herself, afraid that if she shared it with anyone else, something would be lost. But when she didn’t hear from Matt again, Margaret knew she needed help in sorting out the significance of what had happened. Since Matt had kissed her once, surely that meant he’d be interested in doing it again—didn’t it? But she hadn’t seen her neighbor since. The only person she could ask about such things was Maddy Washburn McKenna.

Taking the truck, Margaret drove over to Maddy and Jeb’s, hoping to catch Maddy when she wasn’t busy with the baby. Margaret had been present when Julianne Marjorie McKenna was born, and she still considered it one of the most exciting days of her life. Over the years she’d helped a lot of calves into this world, but she’d never witnessed a human birth. Julianne’s was exhilarating, a truly spectacular event in Margaret’s existence.

She knew labor and delivery weren’t easy on a woman; she’d been there to see Maddy’s struggles. But after holding that precious baby in her arms, Margaret had understood why a woman would willingly undergo such pain.

As she rolled into the McKennas’ yard and parked, Maddy waved to her from the kitchen window.

Margaret waved back. She hurried out of the cold and wind and onto the back porch, automatically slipping off her coat, hat and gloves.

“Margaret!” Maddy said, opening the back door for her. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Maddy had a way of making everyone feel welcome and…
special,
and Margaret wasn’t immune to her enthusiasm.

“This is a wonderful surprise,” Maddy went on.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Margaret was careful to avoid making a pest of herself. Jeb and Maddy hadn’t been married long and there was the baby, too. Maddy was her closest friend, and she didn’t want anything to disrupt their bond.

“This is perfect timing. Jeb’s out with the herd and the baby’s napping. How about a pot of tea? The water’s already on.”

“Sure.” She didn’t really want tea, but it was one of the rituals of their friendship.

A few minutes later, Maddy carried a steeping pot of tea into the living room and Margaret dutifully followed.

“How have you been?” Maddy asked. They’d spoken on the phone at least once a week, and Maddy always asked that question.