Always Dakota by Debbie Macomber
Margaret felt like an idiot. How she’d loved him, wanted him. All the years she’d wasted pining for him. She’d been willing to do anything to get Matt to notice her. All the work and effort she’d put into changing her appearance had been for him. Why? So he could devastate her? Betray her trust? He’d humiliated her, publicly humiliated her! Margaret didn’t know how she’d show her face in town again.
Dear heaven, she had no idea what to do.
The tears came in earnest then. Margaret hated that she couldn’t make herself stop crying. Hated the way her nose ran and her eyes hurt and her shoulders shook. All her emotions were out of kilter. Because of the pregnancy, no doubt. She blamed Matt for that, too, taking risks with birth control. He’d gotten her pregnant—her and his lover.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to try to sleep, but only managed to doze fitfully.
“Margaret.” Sadie’s voice gently woke her.
Her eyes flew open. Sunlight poured into the room. Her mouth felt dry and her eyes ached. Propping herself on one elbow, Margaret looked around. “What time is it?” she demanded.
“Long past the time you normally rise.”
Throwing off the covers, she reached for her jeans, but stopped when the room started to sway. She fell back onto the bed.
“Don’t hurry. Everything’s under control.”
“What about the men?” This was calving season; she had responsibilities.
“Matt’s with them.”
At the sound of his name, Margaret clenched her fists and vaulted upright. “What’s he doing here? I told him to get the hell off my land!”
“He’s your husband,” Sadie stated calmly.
“Thanks for reminding me.”
The housekeeper smiled sardonically. “You’re welcome.”
With her head swimming and her stomach heaving, Margaret grabbed the bedpost and hung on, certain she was about to be ill. It took a determined effort to breathe normally.
“I’d like you to make an appointment for me with the best divorce attorney you know,” she said.
Sadie calmly shook her head. “I’m your housekeeper, not your secretary.”
“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” She’d assumed Sadie would be only too happy to comply.
“You’re the one who married him.”
“Go ahead, rub it in. I was stupid, but believe me, this isn’t a mistake I plan to repeat.” She’d already made one colossal error in judgment and she’d pay for it the rest of her life. She’d learned her lesson. Love wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. It was like a wild animal that you thought you’d tamed—you could never completely trust it.
“What about the child?” Sadie asked, focusing her gaze on Margaret’s abdomen. “That’s his child, too.”
“Are you sticking up for him?” Margaret cried. Not only had her husband lied to her, now her staff had taken his side.
Sadie grimaced. “Matt Eilers is a bastard and he deserves to be shot.”
“Let me be the first one to volunteer,” Margaret said, and she’d let Sadie guess exactly where she intended to aim the gun.
“You married him.”
If Sadie reminded her of that one more time, Margaret thought she’d scream. “It was a mistake!”
“Yes,” the housekeeper agreed, “but not nearly as big a mistake as divorcing him would be.”
“How can you say that?” Margaret asked. The one person she’d counted on was Sadie. They weren’t close, but the housekeeper had known her longer than anyone. This betrayal cut her to the bone; surely Sadie could see that. She needed comfort and sympathy, not judgmental comments and bad advice.
“Right or wrong, you married him, and you loved him. The child you carry is his. The baby deserves a father.”
“Tell Sheryl that.”
“That’s something I’ll leave up to you and Matt,” Sadie said gravely. “That’s for you to work out.”
Thirteen
Matt thought he’d lose his mind if he spent another night sitting in the bunkhouse staring at the wall. It was April now, and Margaret hadn’t said a word to him in two weeks. Correction. She’d said several words he didn’t care to repeat. Every effort he’d made toward reconciliation had been rebuffed.
He’d realized early on that his wife wouldn’t react well to the news of Sheryl’s pregnancy, but he’d had no idea that the line between love and hate could be so thin. Margaret passionately hated him. He felt it in her contemptuous stare every time he met her eyes. She wanted him off her ranch, and after two weeks of constant rejection, he was at his wits’ end. Perhaps it would be best if he did leave. Margaret had made her intentions clear: His life would be hell as long as he stayed there. She’d personally see to it.
His friends were few, and not knowing where else to turn, Matt headed into Buffalo Valley. He didn’t have any place to go, so he went to 3 OF A KIND. The music was blaring and Buffalo Bob had cranked up the karaoke machine.
Some cowhand belted out an off-key version of a Jim Reeves hit. Matt didn’t know him, and didn’t plan to seek out any company. He took a table in the back of the room, letting it be known that he was there for the booze and not for local chitchat. It wasn’t long before Merrily approached.
“How you doing?” she asked, friendly as ever.
His reply was a forced smile. “I could use a beer.”
“Coming right up.”
Sitting in the shadows, Matt nursed three drinks, one right after the other, but they didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, he was more miserable now than he’d been when he arrived. Margaret wasn’t his only worry; already Sheryl and her attorney were determined to bleed him dry. She was after child support, money for her medical bills and living expenses. It wouldn’t stop there, either. He knew damn well this was only the beginning. She was going to exploit this situation for every dime she could get, just like she had in those lawsuits she’d filed in the past. And if she didn’t get any money out of Margaret, she’d try for whatever she could get out of him. It was all about money for Sheryl. She didn’t give a damn about the kid.
It must be near closing time. The bar was mostly deserted and Bob was counting out the till. Matt should be clearing his own tab and moving on, but the thought of returning to the ranch held little appeal.
Trapped in his own murky thoughts, Matt didn’t notice Bob walking over to his table.
“I’ll settle up with you now,” Matt said, reaching for his wallet.
“Anytime is fine. I’m in no hurry,” Bob said, and surprised him by pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “Seems you got something on your mind.”
Matt didn’t respond. He hadn’t meant to be this obvious—but what did he expect after half the town had seen Margaret beat the hell out of him in the middle of Main Street?
“Trouble at home?”
Matt stiffened. “That’s my business.”
“I don’t mean to pry,” Bob continued, sounding apologetic. “Nor am I about to offer you advice—”
“Good,” Matt said, cutting him off.
“But,” Bob went on, unfazed, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be driving.”
“I only had three beers.”
“It’s not the alcohol I’m worried about, it’s your state of mind. You look about as low as a man can get. Merrily thinks it’d be best if you spent the night, and I agree. We have a room for you—on the house. In the morning, if you feel like talking—”
“I already said—”
“You don’t have to discuss your troubles with me,” Bob said, holding up both hands. “But if you want to talk, I’m here, and there are others, too.”
Matt frowned. “Who?”
“Hassie for one. She won’t judge you. And the new pastor. He’s been a real help to Merrily and me.” Bob looked down at the floor. “You might’ve heard our boy was taken away from us.”
Matt had heard about it, but not the details.
“We were both pretty upset, as you can imag
“That was when you broke your hand?”
Bob smiled briefly. “Put it through the wall. I was feeling worse than I’ve ever felt. I’m embarrassed to admit it now, but for a while there, I wondered if life was worth living.”
“I can’t see myself talking this out with a pharmacist.” He didn’t want to hear what a preacher would have to say, either. Especially when it wasn’t four months ago that Larry Dawson had officiated at his wedding. Just married, two women pregnant—there had to be an entire section of hell ready and waiting for the likes of him.
“Just think about it,” Bob advised. “It might help.”
“Thanks for the suggestion.”
“I don’t know what I would’ve done without my friends during that time. They got me through some rough days when I didn’t care what the hell happened to me anymore.”
With Bob’s words echoing in his mind, Matt took the room key and wandered up the stairs. Normally he wasn’t one to accept charity, but even in his pain he recognized that Bob offered friendship and understanding, not pity.
The phone on the nightstand seemed to taunt him. He would have given anything to call Margaret. Anything simply to talk to her and share bits and pieces of their day, the way they had for those few months. She represented everything that had ever been good in his life. He was weak, but her love made him strong. Without her, he was nothing and never would be.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Matt buried his face in his hands. Margaret was having his baby and this should be the happiest moment of his life, but whatever glimmers of joy he experienced were tainted by Sheryl. Dear God, could he have screwed up any worse?
Things didn’t look much better in the morning. Matt thanked Bob and Merrily, left the room key on the counter and headed toward his truck. Part of him wanted to escape. Change his name, move to a different town, start all over again. The thought was tempting, but he knew running was a coward’s trick. Besides, it wouldn’t solve a damn thing.
On his way out of town, he drove past the old church, same as he always did, went a block farther, then abruptly stepped on the brake. He skidded to a stop.
That he’d even consider talking to the minister was evidence of how deep his troubles went. Just as fast as he’d braked, he put the truck in Reverse and turned around. He parked outside the church, suddenly besieged by second thoughts. He sat in his vehicle while he weighed the idea of spilling his guts to a man he figured would likely condemn him—despite Buffalo Bob’s claim to the contrary.
He might have changed his mind and driven on if Pastor Dawson hadn’t walked out of the church that very moment. Figuring he had nothing to lose, Matt climbed from his truck.
“Pastor Dawson?” he called.
Larry Dawson turned around. “Good to see you, Matt,” he said warmly. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you have a few minutes?” he asked.
“Of course. Come inside. I’ll ask Joyce to bring us some coffee.”
Like a schoolboy headed into the principal’s office, Matt followed the minister. A few minutes later, he was sitting in a comfortable chair, a mug of hot coffee in his hand.
To his relief, the pastor didn’t drill him with questions. Matt needed a few minutes of silence and false starts to dredge up the courage to tell him about Sheryl. He was sick at heart by the time he finished.
“Go on, say it,” Matt murmured.
“That you’re a fool?” Larry Dawson asked, then surprised him by laughing. “Why would I call you a fool when you’ve already done that half a dozen times yourself?”
“I don’t know what to do,” Matt confessed, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. “Margaret isn’t speaking to me…hell, I don’t blame her. I try to think how I’d react if I learned she was pregnant with another man’s child.” He closed his eyes, unable to bear the thought. Yet that was the very thing he’d done to her. The relationship with Sheryl had taken place before he married Margaret, but somehow that didn’t make it hurt any less—especially since his dishonesty had left her feeling so betrayed.
“First thing you need to do is get yourself an attorney,” Pastor Dawson said with the authority of a man who’d advised countless others. “You have legal rights, too. I suspect you’re correct in guessing that Sheryl did intentionally plan the pregnancy. From everything you’ve said, it looks like she’ll try to use the child as a means of controlling you. As much as possible, don’t let it happen.”
Matt nodded. That had been his own thought, but he’d felt too helpless and confused to think clearly. An attorney was necessary and he wondered why he hadn’t considered hiring one sooner.
“Another thing. Don’t let Sheryl drive a wedge between you and Margaret. If you’re thinking about moving out, don’t.”
“I am,” Matt confessed. “Every time Margaret deigns to speak to me, she lets it be known that she wants me out of her life.” For the first time in days he managed a small if genuine smile. “My wife has her own way of expressing her wishes.”
Larry Dawson’s look grew intense. “If you love her the way you claim, then it’s time you proved it.”
“I’d do anything to make this right with Margaret,” Matt told him, feeling the first signs of optimism since he’d learned about Sheryl’s baby.
“Be patient,” the minister continued. “Do what you can to make amends. But remember, it isn’t going to be easy. Show her how committed you are. If you love her, though, stick it out.”
“I do love her…. I’m not giving up on our marriage,” Matt said. He stood and offered the pastor his hand. “Thank you.” Larry Dawson had been refreshingly nonjudgmental, kind and helpful. He’d told Matt what he needed to hear, given him a plan of action and promised to pray for him.
Leaving the minister’s, Matt drove into Grand Forks, met with an attorney he chose from the Yellow Pages and began to feel some hope. He arrived back at the ranch just as Margaret was leaving the barn. He paused when he saw her, wondering if he should say anything.
Scowling at him, she removed her gloves. “I thought I was finished with you once and for all.”
“I spent the night in town. Had some thinking to do.”
She snickered as though she didn’t believe him.
Matt followed her to the house and stopped on the front step. “I thought you should know I saw an attorney this afternoon.”
“Good. When’s the divorce final?” She looked straight through him, her face emotionless.
“It wasn’t a divorce attorney.”
“More’s the pity.” She started inside.
“Margaret, for the love of God, would you listen to me?”
She hesitated, her back to him. “I have the distinct impression I’m not going to like what you have to say.”
“What will it take to make this right with you?” he shouted.
“Take?” she shouted back, finally confronting him. “You think you can buy your way out of this? Do you think I can pretend this never happened? Do you seriously believe I can put it out of my mind? Haven’t you figured it out yet? Nothing you say or do could possibly make this right with me.”
“Look, I realize it isn’t an easy situation. I’d give anything to have spared you this, but it happened and I can’t deny it. Keep in mind that I wasn’t married to you at the time, and once we got married I didn’t see Sheryl again. Still, we’re both going to have to deal with this pregnancy. I’m sorry. Sorrier than you know.”
Slowly, thoughtfully, she shook her head, dismissing everything he’d said. “What about my pregnancy, Matt? What about my baby? This should be a happy time for us…. But all I can think about is that another woman’s having your baby, another woman is giving you a child first.” Tears shone in her eyes and she seemed about to say something else. Instead, she stormed into the house and slammed the door.
More than ever, Matt had the feeling he was going to need the prayers Pastor Dawson had promised.
Dennis Urlacher and Jeb McKen
Driving out to the bison ranch for a fuel delivery, Dennis couldn’t stop worrying about his wife and child. Sarah’s pregnancy had been difficult from the start. They’d feared with the first spotting that she’d miscarry. The trauma of those few weeks had taken an emotional toll on them both. When Sarah became bedridden, it’d been a hardship in more ways than one.
In the last months, the pregnancy had taken a turn for the better and Sarah was allowed to get around to a limited degree. After a huge number of expensive tests, it was determined that the baby was developing normally. For Dennis, relief alternated with panic about what could still happen. He desperately wanted this child; he’d waited a long time for a family and he deeply loved Sarah.
Knowing he was due to deliver fuel that afternoon, Jeb was waiting for him when he arrived. Dennis wasn’t usually one to chat. Jeb knew and understood that. Perhaps it was one reason they’d remained such good friends—they didn’t need a lot of conversation to be content.
Marriage had changed Jeb. After the farming accident that cost him his leg, he’d become something of a recluse. But in the months since he’d married Maddy, Dennis had seen the old Jeb, with his subtle sense of humor and gruff charm, reemerge. There was a brightness in his eyes again, a sense of life that had virtually disappeared. A laugh that came more easily now and a pride that shone every time Jeb mentioned Maddy or their daughter.
Dennis parked his gasoline truck close to the tank he was scheduled to refill. Jeb didn’t run much farm equipment anymore; as much as anything, filling the tank was an excuse for them to visit. Dennis noticed that men needed excuses to get together. Not so with women. They seemed to throw a party for every reason imaginable.
“About time you got here,” Jeb said by way of greeting.
Dennis grinned as he pulled out the nozzle and went about his business. “You talk to Sarah lately?” he asked casually a couple of minutes later.