Always Dakota (7 page)

“Afternoon, Hassie,” Sarah greeted her.

“I brought you a chocolate soda,” the older woman said, handing her a tall metal container filled to the brim with ice cream and soda. “I’m betting you didn’t eat lunch again today.”

Sarah hadn’t; she’d been too busy.

“We can’t have you getting weak and fainting on us, now can we?”

There was little likelihood of that happening, but Sarah wasn’t about to argue. Hassie made the best sodas she’d tasted anywhere. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how famished she was.

“Thank you,” she said.

Hassie nodded, then left as abruptly as she’d come.

Sarah stood by the window and watched her. Since her own mother’s death, she’d considered Hassie both advisor and friend. In Sarah’s opinion, Hassie Knight had held this town together. If not for her, the community would have shriveled up and died the way so many other prairie towns had in the last twenty years.

Sarah’s gaze drifted toward her husband’s service station. It was difficult even now, three months after speaking their vows, to believe they were actually married. Unfortunately, the joy she felt was almost immediately squelched by regret at her daughter’s estrangement. For reasons no one fully understood, Calla disliked Dennis. When they’d announced their engagement, Calla had run away, choosing instead to live with her father in Minneapolis.

Sarah felt an oppressive sadness, a painful despair, whenever she thought about Calla. It was agonizing to see history repeat itself as she watched Calla make the same mistakes she had. Sarah felt so helpless. Nothing she’d said or done had brought Calla home. She shook off the memory; thinking about her daughter made it impossible to concentrate on work.

At five o’clock, her employees packed up and headed home. Sarah stayed behind, catching up on some long-overdue paperwork. An hour after she closed, Dennis joined her.

He walked into the back room, stood behind her, kissing her neck. “You ready to leave?”

He smelled of gasoline and grease, and spicy aftershave. Sarah closed her eyes and enjoyed the loving feel of his arms around her.

“I won’t be long. Did you go to the post office?”

His hesitation told her he had.

“There’s a letter from Calla,” he told her.

Sarah’s heart flew into her throat. She’d been so anxious to get a response about Thanksgiving.

“Open it later,” Dennis advised.

Sarah whirled around, unable to believe he’d say such a thing. “Why?” He knew she’d been waiting for days to hear from her daughter.

“What if she tells you she won’t come?” Dennis asked.

“Then she won’t be here.” Sarah’s flippant reply suggested it didn’t matter one way or the other. In reality, it meant everything. She’d only spoken to Calla a few times in the past five months. Despite her best efforts, every conversation had left her feeling guilty, upset and depressed. If only she could get Calla away from Willie’s influence, talk to her, reason all this out.

Thanksgiving would be perfect. Her father and her brother, Jeb, along with Maddy and the baby, would be joining them. Even Dennis’s parents were coming. A big family dinner, the kind they’d had when her mother was alive. Perhaps it was greedy of her, but Sarah wanted her daughter with them. Surrounded by family, Calla would surely feel the love everyone had for her, would surely realize how much they missed her. Realize how much Sarah needed her. Perhaps they’d even be able to break down the barriers and communicate as mother and daughter.

“Give me the letter,” she told him, and held out her hand.

“Sarah…”

“Dennis, please.”

His reluctance was obvious. She clutched the small manila envelope and was about to tear into it when she paused. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said, her voice shaking. All at once she was afraid of what she’d find inside.

“Open it,” Dennis said now. “You might as well. Get it over with.”

He was as ambivalent as she was. Sarah sighed deeply. Confronting her fear was more difficult than she’d expected. She opened the envelope, reached inside and pulled out half the airline ticket.

Sarah’s chest tightened and for a moment she could hardly breathe. Calla had torn the airline ticket in two and returned both halves.

“No letter?” Dennis asked, sounding as discouraged as she felt.

Sarah looked again and shook her head. “Why would she do something so cruel?” she asked.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Dennis said. “Let’s go home.”

“I don’t know why she hates me so much,” Sarah whispered. “If only she’d talk to me. If only…”

P
astor Larry Dawson and his family had lived in fifteen different states in the past forty-three years, but he’d never thought of anywhere but Buffalo Valley as
home.
This was where he’d been born, where he’d gone to school, where he’d buried his mother and three years later, his father. From the day he left for the seminary, he’d planned to return to his childhood home—only, he hadn’t expected that to take over forty years. He was near retirement age now, and it made sense that he pastor a church in the very town where he’d spent his youth. His life was about to come full circle.

For a time, his return had looked doubtful. It seemed that despite all of Joshua McKenna’s and Hassie Knight’s efforts, Buffalo Valley was about to be snuffed out, like so many other small towns that dotted the Dakotas. Then, unexpectedly, the community had sprung back to life. Larry was thrilled and had managed to convince the church hierarchy to send him to Buffalo Valley.

The only church available belonged to the Catholics. It’d been closed for a number of years, ever since Father McGrath, hampered by age and failing health, had retired. Despite circumstances, the elderly priest had continued to stop by every few weeks to celebrate Mass. Recently, however, Father McGrath had entered a retirement home in Minnesota and the Bishop was eager to sell the property. The Methodist Church had bought it.

Soon after Larry had accepted the assignment, he’d found a nearby house to rent. The spare bedroom served as his office. The house was smaller than he would’ve liked, but it was fine for the time being. Fortunately his three daughters were grown and settled in careers and raising their own families. Unfortunately, they lived in three different states—Connecticut, Nebraska and Oregon.

Larry’s first official duty had been to officiate at the funeral of Bernard Clemens. He remembered the rancher, but it’d been years since they’d last spoken. The funeral, sad as it was, had been an opportunity to become acquainted with the people in town, those he’d once known and the younger people, whose families he often remembered. Larry had spent a good part of the day meeting and greeting his new neighbors.

In some ways, not much had changed in Buffalo Valley. When he’d left, there’d been a reserve toward strangers, a hesitancy. It remained in place to this day. The town…well, it
looked
better than he’d expected, but there was still much to be done. People were pleased with the most recent improvements and planning more. Then there was—

“Lunch is ready,” Joyce called from the kitchen, breaking into his musings.

He’d met Joyce while he was in the seminary. His wife had been raised in Boston, but over the years she’d come to love small-town life.

“What are your plans for the afternoon?” she asked as she sat across the table from him. She’d prepared one of his favorites, a chicken salad made with cold noodles and tossed with a soy vinaigrette, but today he had virtually no appetite.

“I thought I’d go over and visit Joshua.” A question about a couple he’d met at Bernard’s funeral had been bothering Larry and he could think of no one better to ask than his old friend. After barely touching his lunch, he wandered over to Joshua McKenna’s second-hand store. Joshua sold a little of everything. The sign in his window claimed there wasn’t anything he couldn’t fix, and Larry believed it.

“Good to see you,” Joshua called out when the bell above the door announced Larry’s arrival.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” Larry saw that Joshua was up to his elbows in grease, working on some kind of engine.

“Trust me, I welcome the interruption.” Joshua reached for a wadded-up rag, tucked in his back hip pocket. “This,” he said, gently patting the huge metal contraption, “is the engine to Gage Sinclair’s tractor. Dennis had it two weeks and couldn’t get it running. He threw up his hands and asked me to give it a try.”

Larry knew that low prices were killing many of the small farmers in the heartland. Farmers kept their equipment running as long as possible, and then eked out another twenty thousand miles.

“Did you hear I was over at Buffalo Bob’s?” Larry said as Joshua studied the engine. “Went there a couple of weeks ago, after I met them at Bernard’s wake.” Bob had talked him into trying his karaoke machine. Larry had no singing voice whatsoever, but bolstered by Merrily, he’d fallen victim. He was fairly confident they wouldn’t invite him to sing again.

“They have a little boy, don’t they?” Larry had noticed the child at the Clemens house but hadn’t seen him since.

“His name’s Axel.”

“Unusual name.”

Joshua nodded and continued to inspect the engine.

“Haven’t seen him around much,” Larry said.

“Seems to me Merrily said he’s got the chicken pox,” Joshua muttered.

“Poor little boy.”

“I’ve never seen a couple crazier about a kid,” Joshua said absentmindedly. He rubbed the side of his face, smearing a smudge of oil along his jaw.

“Bob seems to be a good father,” Larry commented.

“He is,” Joshua said. “Especially for being so new to it.”

“Axel isn’t his child?” Larry suspected as much, but then, he suspected a lot more.

“No. The boy belongs to Merrily,” he said, and reached inside the engine with a long-handled wrench. “No one realized she had a kid until she showed up with him one day.”

Larry’s suspicions mounted. When he’d moved into the house, there’d been a pile of junk mail stacked in the post office box, waiting for him once he’d submitted his change-of-address information. Never one to toss a piece of paper without first looking at it, he’d come across some flyers, notifications of several missing and abducted children. The name Axel, being unusual, had stuck in his mind. Within a week he’d met Bob and Merrily and their boy…Axel.

“Come to think of it, I never saw Merrily pregnant, either,” Joshua said. He twisted the wrench again and glanced up. “It used to be that Merrily would drift in and out of town. She’d stay with Buffalo Bob a few weeks, then disappear. He took her leaving real hard and never seemed to know when she’d be coming back.”

“You never saw her pregnant?” Larry repeated.

Joshua paused. “Funny, I never thought about it before, but no.”

“She didn’t bring the boy with her on earlier visits?”

Joshua shook his head. “No, not once.”

“You’re sure the boy is hers?”

His friend looked uncertain. “It’s clear he belongs to her,” he finally said. He held Larry’s eyes for an uncomfortably long moment. “If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

Larry wasn’t sure this was the time or place to voice his suspicions. For many, he was a newcomer to the community; he had no intention of wading into an explosive situation without being sure of himself.

“Did Sarah hear from Calla?” he asked instead, purposely changing the subject.

“She did.” Regret flashed across Joshua’s face. “Apparently Calla’s not coming.”

Larry had been afraid of that. “Is Sarah upset?”

“Real upset. Frankly, I don’t understand Calla. Makes me wonder what lies that no-good father of hers is feeding her.”

“You might never know.”

Joshua scratched his head, leaving more grease in his hair. “I told you how she ran away from his place, too, didn’t I?”

Larry nodded.

“Sarah and Dennis tried to talk sense into her, but she wouldn’t listen. Calla had a choice—either move back here to Buffalo Valley or return to her father. No one understood why she’d choose to live with Willie. I tell you, it’s got us all worried sick. No one would object if you mentioned it the next time you’re talking to God.”

“I’ll be glad to,” Larry offered. And while he was praying for Calla and her mother, he intended to ask God about the situation with Axel and his parents, too.

In the past few days, Sheryl had phoned no fewer than seven times. She was hounding Matt about Margaret, quizzing him about the relationship and what he was doing to promote it. Heaven help him if she ever found out about those kisses! At first, he’d assumed Sheryl’s talk about how he should marry Margaret for her ranch was nothing but that—talk. He’d been wrong. She was dead serious.

That anyone could so blatantly use another for such a mercenary purpose angered him. He should have realized from the beginning that Sheryl was trouble. The evidence was there. Sheryl had bragged about collecting on three frivolous lawsuits, as well as two minor car accidents and a workman’s compensation claim. Every single time, she’d walked away with money in her pocket. It was a way of life with her. He’d been unimpressed and somewhat contemptuous, but until now, her proclivity for making easy money hadn’t affected him. He refused to get involved.

Friday afternoon he drove to the truck stop, intending to tell her not to call him again. Her attitude toward Margaret Clemens irritated Matt. True, Sheryl was as pretty as a centerfold—and about as two-dimensional. Despite her lovely eyes, Margaret was plain, but unlike Sheryl she was both honest and kind. It surprised him that he felt so protective toward Margaret. One thing he knew for sure: he wasn’t going to let Sheryl talk him into using her.

“Sheryl around?” he asked Lee Ann, one of the other waitresses.

“She worked the early shift today,” Lee Ann told him. “But I know she’d like to see you.”

Matt nodded, and ordered a beer. He wasn’t in any hurry.

“Drop in at her house, why don’t you?” Lee Ann said as she delivered his Bud Light.

Matt didn’t reply. He would’ve preferred to see Sheryl here, where there were other people, rather than her place—where they’d be alone. She had her own special way of detaining him and he didn’t want to fall into that trap. Instead, he went to a local watering hole and drank two more beers. Fortified by alcohol and a strong sense of what was right, he changed his mind and went over to Sheryl’s rented house. He drove slowly and carefully, grateful for the lack of traffic—and always keeping an eye out for the sheriff. A drunk driving conviction was something he’d prefer to avoid.

“Where have you been?” Sheryl cried, her face lighting up when she opened her door. Without warning, she hurled herself into his arms, nearly knocking him off balance. “I’ve been missing you
so
much.”

Although she’d been squawking about marriage, Matt was well aware that there were other men in her life. He let her think he was deaf and blind because it suited his own purposes. He was with Sheryl on
his
terms, no matter how much she liked to think she was the one controlling him.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” she said.

“I’ve been busy.”

“I’m sure you have,” Sheryl said and led him into her cozy living room.

He sat down on the sofa and she poured them each a stiff drink, Scotch over ice, bringing the tumblers to the coffee table. He didn’t have time to reach for his glass before Sheryl crawled into his lap, straddling his legs.

“So you missed me, too,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and settling her sweet little bottom directly over his crotch.

There was no denying that he had.

“Tell me how it’s going with Margaret,” she said.

Matt had come to Sheryl’s to discuss Margaret, but not for the reason she assumed.

“You’d be a fool to let this opportunity slip through your fingers.” She picked up her drink, sipping from it. Her eyes met and held his. “She needs you. Can’t you see you’d be helping her?”

It was difficult to ignore his body’s natural response to the things Sheryl was doing. His head was clouded with booze and desire, but he couldn’t allow her to manipulate him. Bracing his hands against her shoulders, he spoke forcefully. “I’m here to tell you I have no intention of marrying Margaret or anyone else.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows arched with the question. “What about me?” She squirmed in his lap, effectively reminding him of all she had to offer…and her willingness to do so. Setting aside her drink, she cupped his face between her hands and directed his mouth to hers.

This was a woman who knew how to bring a man to a full state of arousal—fast. Without the beer and the whiskey, he might have been able to break off the kiss and hold his ground, but his resolve was already weakening.

“I didn’t say this was a hard-and-fast decision,” he whispered huskily, his eyes closed.

“Good answer.” She kissed him again, employing the full range of her talents.

By the time she’d finished kissing him, Matt was putty in her hands.

“I’ve missed you, cowboy,” she said, leading him to the bedroom. “More than you know.”

Matt doubted it, but he didn’t care, not at that moment. There seemed little excuse to deny himself what he wanted most, and just then it was Sheryl.

The following morning, Matt woke with a hell of a headache. His entire head throbbed. The whiskey bottle, now empty, stood on the bedside table; one of the glasses lay on the floor. The other glass held several cigarette butts, floating in half an inch of melted ice. The sight disgusted him. So did Sheryl, naked beside him. Most of all, he disgusted himself.

Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling, and silently cursed himself for being so damn weak. He’d never meant for this to happen. He’d never meant to become this involved with Sheryl. But a man had needs—needs Sheryl was always happy to satisfy. What they shared was a mutually pleasurable sexual relationship; that was the extent of it. The more he got to know her, the less he liked her. He worked long, hard hours on his ranch, but every now and then he needed to let loose, indulge himself. Sheryl was always obliging.