Dakota Born (12 page)

Instead of barricading herself inside her house, she decided to visit Hassie at the pharmacy. Lindsay was badly in need of some inspiration. Gage Sinclair had predicted she wouldn't last beyond the first snowstorm; the way she felt just then, she wouldn't last till the end of the week.

“Looks like you could use one of my extra-thick, extra-rich chocolate sodas,” Hassie said immediately.

“What I need is a hot toddy and a bottle of aspirin.”

Hassie laughed amiably and made her way to the counter. She automatically reached for the ice-cream scoop while Lindsay climbed onto a stool and slouched forward.

“That rough, was it?”

“Worse.”

“The Loomis twins are a handful.”

That was the understatement of the century. “I've arrived at one profound conclusion,” Lindsay said, propping her elbows on the counter and, with an effort, lifting her head. “The classroom is not meant to be a democracy. After today, it's a dictatorship. I don't know what I was thinking. Hassie, I feel as though I'm drowning, and it's either sink or swim.”

“You'll do just fine. If you want, I'll stop by tomorrow and give those little hellions a chemistry lesson they won't soon forget.”

“I've got you scheduled for next week. Joshua McKenna agreed to speak this Friday. And I
think
his son Jeb will come in a couple of weeks—although Sarah said not to count on him.” She hadn't heard from Gage, but had taken the liberty of putting his name down for a lecture on honeybees later in the quarter.

“Anyone else volunteered?”

“Gage—well, sort of.”

Hassie set the fizzing soda in front of her. “Speaking of Gage, it seems the two of you are getting along famously.”

Lindsay went still, wondering if Hassie had seen her and Gage kissing on her front porch Saturday night. “He stopped by—”

“I saw his truck parked outside your place—not once but twice.”

“He…came to apologize.”

Hassie chuckled. “That boy has more style than I gave him credit for.”

“You—saw?” Heat rushed to her cheeks. Lindsay had no reason to be embarrassed, but Hassie was the only person in town who knew about Monte.

“My goodness, Gage had you practically bent in half. I had no idea the boy could kiss like that.”

Lindsay would rather not discuss the incident, but now that Hassie had brought up the subject, she couldn't ignore it. “I know what you saw, Hassie, but it wasn't the way it looked.”

Striking a relaxed pose, Hassie leaned forward on her crossed arms. “You don't have to explain a thing to me. Gage is a fine man. You're both young and if you were to become romantically involved—”

“We're
not
romantically involved.” That was definitely a path Lindsay intended to avoid. She was healing from one relationship and wouldn't immediately immerse herself in another.

“Gage Sinclair is a good man.”

“I'm sure he is, but I'm not interested.”

Doing a poor job of disguising a smile, Hassie grabbed a rag and wiped down the counter. “Don't be so quick to make a decision,” she said. “I don't know what would have happened to Leta and Kevin if Gage hadn't taken over the farm after John died. Nice man, John Betts, but not much with finances. He was up to his neck in debt when he passed on. So instead of buying and working his own land, Gage took over the farm and he's the sole support of his mother and half brother.”

Despite what she'd said, Lindsay was curious about Gage. “He was born here?”

Hassie nodded. “Leta was a widow for almost ten years before she met and married John. Gage was about thirteen or fourteen at the time. He went into the Army as soon as he graduated from high school. The military seeks out farm boys, figuring they know how to work hard and don't have a problem following orders. He stayed in the Army for several years, then he went away to school for a while. When he returned, he started working the farm with John. He was looking for acreage of his own when John died.”

“He's never been—” Lindsay stopped, unsure she should be asking these questions. Not that she was afraid of what Hassie thought, but because she herself might start thinking of Gage in terms that wouldn't be good for either of them. Despite her claim that their kisses meant nothing, Lindsay had trouble suppressing the memory. In her entire life, she'd never been kissed like that.

“Gage Sinclair would make you one hell of a husband.”

“Hassie! The kiss was nothing. He—came to apologize.”

“Twice?”

“Yes. We seemed to have started off on the wrong foot and—”

“You two were doin' some pretty fancy footwork when I saw you.” Hassie laughed, looking pleased.

Lindsay could see it would do no good to argue. This tendency to discuss everyone else's business was part of living in a small town—something her father had warned her about. People felt they had the right to know and comment on whatever you did; there wasn't a lot of privacy. It'd been foolish to let Gage kiss her on the front porch where someone was likely to see them.

“Here,” Hassie said, stepping out from behind the counter and reaching for an aspirin bottle. “Take two of these and call me in the morning.”

After one last sip of the rich chocolate soda, Lindsay headed home, stopping at the small post office on her way. Inside her mail box was a thick letter from Maddy, which she read right there, hungry for news of home.

Monte had written her twice so far, his first letter asking bluntly if she'd changed her mind yet and was she ready to move back to Savannah? Lindsay had read the letter and tossed it. His second had arrived ten days later, and in it he expressed his annoyance at not having heard from her. That letter ended up in the same place as the first. As far as she was concerned, everything had already been said.

That night, after a quick salad for dinner and with the dogs at her feet, Lindsay sat down and wrote a long reply to her friend, telling Maddy about her first day as a teacher, about Calla Stern and the Loomis twins. She wrote about the people she'd met since arriving—without going into detail about Gage—and how her first day in the classroom had shattered her illusions.

Her frustration with the fireplace didn't help, although she didn't tell Maddy about that. Lindsay had done everything other than dismantle the entire structure and all to no avail. Somewhere in this fireplace was a hollow brick, and inside it was something her grandmother had placed there all those years ago. She might have only been ten at the time, but she knew what she'd seen. Now, what had started as mere curiosity had turned into a mission. Lindsay was determined to find that brick, or tear down the house trying.

Once she'd poured out her feelings to her best friend, Lindsay felt much better. It'd only been her first day of teaching. Things were bound to get better. This was a period of adjustment for them all, she told herself, teacher as well as students.

The phone rang just as she'd finished sealing the envelope. Lindsay stared at it—almost afraid to answer in case it was a parent who disapproved of the way she'd handled her class. If so, Lindsay wasn't sure she'd disagree.

“Hello,” she said, trying to sound professional and confident.

“It's Gage.”

He was the last person she'd expected to hear from. “Oh—I'm glad you phoned.”

“You are?”

“Hassie saw you kissing me,” she blurted out. She was still unfamiliar with life in a small town and she had an uncomfortable suspicion that the news was all over Buffalo Valley by now. She could count on Hassie to be discreet, but there might well have been others….

His soft laughter annoyed her. “If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me.”

“As a matter of fact, it
does
bother me,” she said curtly. Leave it to a man to make light of the situation. She had no interest in being the subject of gossip, especially this soon after her arrival.

“You don't need to worry. Hassie isn't one to talk out of turn.”

Figuring he'd only be amused, she didn't mention her fear that the incident might have been noticed by others. “Just make sure it doesn't happen again.”

“What? Kissing you?”

What else did he think she was talking about? “Yes.”

“You liked it that much?”

Lindsay fumed silently. After the day she'd had, she was in no mood to deal with the likes of Gage Sinclair. “I suppose there's a reason you phoned me?”

“Two reasons, actually,” Gage answered.

Lindsay could hear the smug cheerfulness in his voice, and it irritated her all the more.

“I'll come and talk to the high-school class about honeybees, if you want.”

Gratitude cooled her irritation. “That would be wonderful. Does two weeks from Friday work for you?”

“October would be better.”

“Great. I'll put you down for the first Friday in October.” They chatted a bit about what she was looking for in the way of a science lesson—and then Gage broached the second reason for his call.

“I was wondering if you'd like to have a beer with me Saturday night at Buffalo Bob's.”

Lindsay hesitated, weighing the decision. She was tempted to say yes. The man's kisses could buckle her knees. But she'd just met him and they were already the subject of local gossip. “Um, I don't think that would be a good idea.”

His own pause was lengthy. “What I said about you getting over someone back in Savannah—that's right, isn't it?”

She hesitated again, then admitted the truth. “Yes.” It was best to be aboveboard with Gage. “I…I'm giving myself a year to heal. It isn't you, Gage, it's me. I don't want to leap from one relationship into another….”

“I asked you out for a beer. It wasn't a marriage proposal.”

“I know, but I thought…you know.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I won't ask you again.”

A man and his pride were a frightful combination. “That's probably for the best.”

“The way I see it,” Gage told her, “you'll have to ask
me
the next time around.”

 

Rachel Fischer knew good pizza when she tasted it. And her own, baked with a thin homemade crust and topped with sauce made from the tomatoes grown in her garden, was excellent. Now that she had the small pizza oven, she was in business.

The past four years had been difficult, and she was only now beginning to feel optimistic about the future. First her husband, Ken, had died after a long bout with leukemia. By the time of his death, the farm had been mortgaged to the hilt and two weeks after the funeral, the bank in Fargo had repossessed the land and the equipment and even their pick-up truck.

Not long after she'd buried Ken, her parents, who owned the Morningside Café, decided to close the restaurant and move south. Her mother had urged Rachel to join them. Buffalo Valley was dying and there was little to keep her there.

The decision had been wrenching, but in the end, she'd felt that Mark had already endured enough upheaval in his life. Then the job driving the school bus had become available and she'd accepted that. She moved into her parents' old house and had managed to hold on, like everyone else in town.

In Rachel's view the tide had begun to turn when Hassie found a replacement for the high-school teacher. The fact that Lindsay Snyder had signed a one-year contract was exactly what the town needed. Everyone seemed more hopeful. If ever there was a time to start her business, Rachel sensed it was now.

An offhand comment from her son was what had suggested the idea. He'd gone to Grand Forks with a friend for a birthday party at a pizza parlor, and returned to tell her she made
much
better pizza. When Mark's birthday came around, she invited the same set of friends to the house and served her own pizza. Mark's friends agreed with him. She made the best pizza of anyone.

Rachel thought so, too.

“Mom. Mom!” Ten-year-old Mark raced into the restaurant Friday night, the first official day of business. He was as excited about this venture as Rachel was. “I delivered the flyers to everyone in town. When will the orders start coming?”

“I'm ready any time,” Calla told her, following Mark inside.

Rachel had an arrangement with the girl. Since she couldn't afford to actually pay Calla wages to deliver the pizza—not yet, anyway—the teenager had agreed to take on the job for any tips she might collect, plus a free pizza for every night worked. Rachel had talked over the terms of employment with Sarah, Calla's mother, who'd given the project her approval.

Soon, Rachel sincerely hoped, she'd be running a profitable enterprise. She knew how to make good pizza, but she was only now learning what it meant to be a good business person. Starting small was essential. Her pizza service was open only on weekends. If it grew the way she hoped it would, she could expand later. As it was now, other than for pick-up, the restaurant wasn't officially open. When she'd paid off the pizza oven, she'd save for new tables and chairs and other equipment she needed. Eventually she hoped to add to the menu and open the restaurant full-time.