Dakota Born by Debbie Macomber
“Hours ago,” he fibbed.
He could tell she was amused by the hint of a smile that tilted one side of her mouth. “You’re late.”
“Thank you for the flowers, Heath,” he said with humorous sarcasm as he handed her the bouquet. “My, what a thoughtful grandson I have.”
“What are you doing bringing an old woman flowers, anyway? It’s a waste of good money. You should be giving those to Rachel Fischer.”
He must have made a revealing gesture, because she caught on right away that there was a problem between him and Rachel.
“You are seeing Rachel, aren’t you?”
“Not recently,” he said, taking a seat some distance from her. If she found out what he’d done, she might decide to beat him over the head with those flowers.
“Why not?”
His grandmother had always been one to get straight to the point. It was a characteristic they shared. “I didn’t come here to discuss my personal life with you.”
“Then what the hell good are you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“How old are you now? Don’t you think it’s time you got married?”
“I will. All in good time.” He leaned back and spread his arms across the back of the couch.
“In good time,” she scoffed. “Who’s to say how much time any of us has? Max always said he had lots of time, too, and now he’s gone.”
Heath tried not to think about his brother and how sorely Max was missed by both his grandmother and him.
“You’ve been frittering away your life for years. Climbing mountains, living like a Bohemian. I blame your parents for this. I told them that sparing the rod spoiled the child.”
“Grandma,” Heath said, struggling to curtail a laugh. “I received my share of the rod.”
“Not near enough for someone as stubborn as you. I should’ve taken the paddle to you myself.”
At that, he laughed outright. His grandmother was all bark, and he knew it.
She wheeled around to face him. “Tell me what happened with the widow.”
He hesitated, then figured he deserved whatever criticism she gave him. “I tried to rush her into bed.”
Lily Quantrill made a disapproving sound, but she didn’t explode the way he’d figured she would. He could tell by her scowl that she considered him a fool, and frankly, Heath agreed with her.
“What’s the outlook now?” she demanded.
“Not good, I’m afraid.”
Her gaze narrowed. “You giving up on her?”
“No.” He’d never been a quitter in his life and wasn’t about to start now.
“You going to marry her?”
“Too soon to tell.”
Lily snickered. “So, you wanted to bed her, did you?”
“Yes, but…” He hesitated, thinking better of enlightening his grandmother about the morals and values of modern days. She might take exception.
“But what?” she asked. “I like her, you like her. My grandparents met when her father went to a marriage broker. It was good enough for them. They were married sixty-eight years. Should I call Rachel, get this matter straightened out once and for all?”
Appalled, Heath was on his feet. “Don’t you dare do that! I’ll take care of it myself.”
“Apologize to her.”
He sighed. “If that’s what it takes.”
“And remember, wed before bed—it’s worked that way for hundreds of years. Must be a reason for it, don’t you think?” Muttering under her breath, she wheeled over with the flowers and returned them to him. “Do something quick. I want to see you married before I leave this world, and I’m not as young as I look.”
Joanie delayed phoning Brandon until afternoon. She couldn’t put it off any longer, otherwise the kids would be rushing in the door from school. It was a task she dreaded, but she had no choice. There were a number of things they needed to discuss.
That morning, as soon as the children had left, she sat down and in an organized and methodical way wrote out a list of items to discuss with her husband. All day that list had accompanied her from room to room.
So far, every contact between them had left her shaken and emotionally drained. Brandon didn’t make it easy on her, but despite that, she had to call. Now.
The baby stirred as she sat at the kitchen table and reached for the old-fashioned phone. Joanie placed her hand over her swollen abdomen, loving this child already. Poor, sweet baby. He had no idea what was happening to his family.
Earlier in the month, an ultrasound had revealed the likely sex of her unborn child. The health clinic had ordered the procedure when Joanie experienced some minor complications. Luckily, she’d qualified for free health care. Had he known, Brandon would have bristled at the thought of anyone in his family receiving charity. In the weeks since leaving him, she’d become accustomed to accepting the kindness of others. Her parents, in particular, had been wonderful, but she didn’t want to depend on them any more than she already did.
Brandon had sent her a check for January and, last Wednesday, one for February, a week early. But it wasn’t nearly enough to meet their living expenses, even with the nominal rent she paid. Her parents had urged her to tell her husband about the pregnancy, and twice now she’d tried, and both times had failed. When they did talk, it was by phone and he always sounded so angry and bitter, and despite her resolve to inform him about the baby, she found she just couldn’t.
Joanie picked up the receiver. She missed her home and her friends, and being part of Buffalo Valley. But mostly she missed the life she’d once shared with her husband. For a while now, she’d been plagued with doubts. Alone in bed at night, she couldn’t help wondering if she’d done the right thing.
Two months ago, the answer had seemed much clearer than it did now, as she tried to deal with her children’s pain and her own.
Before she lost her nerve entirely, she dialed the familiar number. Brandon answered just before the answering machine came on.
“Hello, Brandon,” she said, placing her finger on the list in front of her, trying to maintain her emotional balance.
“Is something wrong with the kids?” he demanded in the surly voice she’d grown to expect from him.
“They’re doing fine.” Her words were followed by a tense, awkward silence, which she eventually broke. “But I did want to talk to you about them.”
“All right.”
She sighed inwardly and forged ahead. “They want to know if they can come home for spring vacation.”
There was no hesitation. “This is their home. They’re welcome any time.”
But not her. He didn’t say it, but Joanie didn’t need it spelled out. “My dad said he’d be willing to drop them off.”
“Your dad. Not you?”
Joanie closed her eyes and forced herself to continue. “I can’t. I’ve got a job. I work weekends.”
“You working in a bank?”
“No—it’s just part-time.” She didn’t want to tell him she stood on her feet for an eight-hour shift four days a week in a convenience store. It was the only work she could find, and what little income she received helped put groceries on the table.
“I’ll be waiting for the kids the second week of March then.” His voice softened perceptibly, and she knew he looked forward to spending time with his children.
“While he’s there, would it be all right if Dad picked up a few things for me?” she asked, rushing the question in order to get it out before he hung up.
“Such as?”
“I’ve got two or three boxes of old clothes in the attic.”
“What do you want clothes from the attic for?”
Now was the time to tell him, to casually mention that those old clothes were maternity outfits she’d tucked away after Stevie’s birth. “I…need them, is all.”
“For your part-time job?”
“Yes.” It was the truth, and it wasn’t.
“I’ll bring them down for
“Thank you.”
He sighed, as if tired of the ugliness between them. “We’re so polite with each other.”
Joanie didn’t respond. At least politeness was preferable to bitter silence or angry accusations.
“You seen your big-city attorney yet?” he asked, an edge of pain evident in his voice.
“No.”
“You’ve got a job now, you can afford it. Then you can nail me to the wall financially. You wanted me to sell the farm. Well, a divorce is certainly one way to get me off the land.”
Joanie rested her elbow on the table and leaned her forehead against her palm. “I haven’t talked to an attorney, but I’ll let you know when I’ve made an appointment.”
“You do that.”
Silence, but Joanie refused to let it continue. “I had Sage at the dentist last week,” she told him, “and he thinks she’s going to need braces.”
His response was full of sarcasm. “Like I can afford braces.”
“I thought I should tell you.” She wished now that she hadn’t. It wasn’t something they needed to worry about immediately. Not until she was twelve or thirteen, according to the dentist.
“Anything else on your list?”
He knew her so well. They hadn’t spent all those years together for nothing. “No,” she whispered. “That’s everything.” Except…I’m pregnant. She couldn’t make herself say it.
Neither of them said goodbye or disconnected the line.
“I appreciate that you’re having the children write me every week,” he murmured.
“They enjoy your letters, too.” Each Tuesday, two letters arrived, one addressed to Sage and the other to Stevie. Sage kept hers in a shoe box in her bedroom. At night when she went to tuck her daughter into bed, Joanie often found Sage reading over her letters, one by one. Brandon’s letters to his son ended up all over the house. Joanie gathered them up for him, but Stevie didn’t seem to care one way or the other. At least outwardly.
“Goodbye, Brandon,” she finally said.
“Before you go, tell me one thing.” He hesitated and seemed to be formulating his question. “Tell me, Joanie,” he blurted out, “are you happy?”
She didn’t know how to answer him. The truth was more complex than that. She’d been miserable when she left, but instead of diminishing, that misery had only increased. Oh, there’d been a short blissful period of a week or so after she’d moved to Fargo with the children. A week during which everything seemed better. The tension was gone, she’d taken action, it’d felt right. But that reprieve hadn’t lasted. The doubts and troubles returned; the pain had never gone away, for her or the children. And there was this new baby to worry about….
“Is that such a difficult question to answer?”
“Apparently it is,” she told him. “No, I’m not happy. I never wanted to do this, never thought it would come to this.”
“It’s so hard on you because you love me, right?” The sarcasm was back in full force.
“Believe it or not, I do love you, Brandon.”
“Well, you have a strange way of showing it. I’ll look for the kids next month. Goodbye, Joanie.”
“Goodbye, Brandon.” Gently she set the receiver back and dropped her face in her hands, struggling to control her grief and her fears.
The children would be home from school soon and she didn’t want them to find her upset. It unsettled them. So she pretended everything was fine.
She wondered if anything would ever be fine again.
Sixteen
The first week of February, it seemed as if spring would never come, and winter pressed down on Lindsay, heavy and bitter cold. The wind hissed and howled across stark, barren land, the white fields almost featureless. The town looked bleaker than ever in the gray light of winter, with dirty drifts of snow at the side of the roads.
With spring apparently far off, Lindsay’s students had grown listless and bored with their studies. What little enthusiasm she’d been able to muster was forced and hardly seemed worth the effort. It didn’t help that she felt oppressed by personal problems, too. She hadn’t yet made a decision about searching for Gina’s child—and wasn’t sure how to go about it, anyway. Hire a detective? She’d barely seen Gage all month, and when they were together their behavior toward each other was guarded. She longed to end the strain between them, but couldn’t. Not without making painful compromises.
As was her habit, Lindsay stopped at Hassie’s after school almost every day. This first Monday of February, she felt in particular need of her friend’s wisdom and advice.
“I feel sorry for the kids,” Lindsay admitted, sipping her tea. Sorry for herself, too, but she didn’t mention that. “They don’t have much of a social life. In a normal high school, there’d be dances and sporting events. But Friday nights for these kids means partying in some remote field, drinking beer out of a can and listening to the radio.”
Sighing, she rested her elbows on the counter.
“That sounds about right,” Hassie said, fussing with her own cup of tea. She poured in a teaspoon of Gage’s honey and drew lazy circles with her spoon.
“My favorite dance of the year was the Sweetheart Ball every Valentine’s Day.” Lindsay’s memories of high school were pleasant ones and she remembered fondly all the energy invested in finding the perfect dress, the fun of double-dating with Maddy, the happy, carefree experiences they’d shared.
Hassie grinned, as if Lindsay had said something of real importance. “So, what’s stopping you?” she asked.
“Stopping me?”
“From throwing a dance. You put on that Christmas play, didn’t you?”
Well, yes, but she’d had a theater, which would be used again at graduation. “Putting on a dance sounds like a fine idea, but—where?”
Hassie glowered at her. “Use your head, girl. There’s plenty of empty buildings around here. A high-school dance wouldn’t require nearly as much fuss as fixing up that old movie house.”
“We could have a dinner to go along with the dance.” She was starting to feel excited about this. “The year Maddy and I were seniors, it was the in thing to rent limos and dine at ultraexpensive restaurants. The two of us thought it was silly to waste our money like that, so we decided to come up with something really wonderful, something different.”
“What did you do?”
Although her lips were sore and cracked from the dry and the cold, Lindsay grinned. “We had dinner in Forsyth Park. Five couples got together and our parents brought out their best china and linens for us. A few of the younger brothers served as waiters, and the ten families supplied a fabulous dinner. Right there in the middle of the park, we showed up in our tuxedos and fancy dresses and acted as if we were dining at the White House. It was the talk of the school.”
“Do that here,” Hassie suggested. “I’ve got a pretty lace tablecloth I’d be willing to let you borrow. You might be able to strike a deal with Buffalo Bob on the food and probably the music. You could have dinner there and follow it up with a dance somewhere else. You know, it’ll be the first formal dance for those kids. You’re right. They need that experience. It’ll be good for them.”
“But the girls can’t afford gowns any more than the boys can buy suits.”
“They can borrow them. Most of ’em will fit into a discarded suit of their father’s. Vaughn wore his dad’s suit when he graduated from high school. Folks around here have been making do for a long time. Leave it to your students and don’t be surprised by what they come up with.”
Suddenly they seemed to have a plan. One that was both thrilling and—more important—possible. Already she felt immeasurably better. “We can do this!”
“You’re darn tootin’ we can. A dance is just what this community needs.”
“But it’s for the high-school kids,” Lindsay said.
“You’ll need chaperons, won’t you? You can’t have a Sweetheart Dance without chaperons.”
“Ask Gage,” Hassie suggested, her eyes twinkling.
Lindsay had given up trying to hide her feelings for Gage. Hassie knew, and she encouraged the romance, what little of it there was these days. Lindsay and Gage disagreed about some fundamental issues—Kevin’s applying for the scholarships and the wisdom of Lindsay’s searching for their grandparents’ illegitimate child. Even so, Lindsay felt drawn to Gage; she respected and liked him and maybe more…Mostly, she wished things could be different, but didn’t know how to go about changing them.
“You’ll have to get working on it,” Hassie said, “especially if you want to do this any time close to Valentine’s Day.”
“I’ll get started tonight.” Her enthusiasm high, she decided they’d hold the dance the Saturday after Valentine’s—which gave her less than two weeks. Before she left, Lindsay kissed Hassie on the cheek.
“What was that for?”
“Because you’re brilliant.”
Hassie laughed outright. “Hey, tell the town council that, if you would. I’m getting too old and tired to be fighting with them.” Her smile brightened her eyes and added color to her cheeks.
Two days later, Lindsay had made the arrangements for the first Buffalo Valley High School Sweetheart Dinner and Dance. She talked to Rachel Fischer, who offered to let them use her parents’ old restaurant for the dance itself. The place was virtually empty of tables and chairs, but had heat and electricity—an advantage when funds and time were in short supply.
Buffalo Bob took to the idea immediately. He made up a special menu and offered it at a rock-bottom price. He also agreed to let the teens use his stereo system for the dance, although he insisted on setting it up and dismantling it himself.
To her delight, Heath Quantrill volunteered to be a chaperon without her having to ask. Hassie did, too, but she’d let it be known that she was rarely up past ten and would probably leave early. The one person she had yet to ask was Gage.
“Everyone in town’s talking about the Sweetheart Dance,” Hassie teased her the next time Lindsay dropped by Knight’s Pharmacy. “You work faster than the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers when you put your mind to something.”