Dakota Born (28 page)

After carefully wrapping the decorations, she stored them in cardboard boxes, which she carried to the back bedroom, the room her grandmother had once used for sewing. The closet was narrow, and when she lifted the box to set it on the shelf above the rail, the corner ripped out a section of wallpaper.

“Damn,” she muttered as she pushed the box into place.

Turning on the light, she investigated the tear, disgusted with herself for being careless. But when she looked more closely, Lindsay realized that the space behind the wallpaper was empty. Someone had purposely papered over a hole in the wall. She suddenly went still. Someone had covered a space where the plaster had been cut away—perhaps to hide something. She hurried to find her flashlight.

When she returned she was breathing hard. Hands shaking, she shone the light into the dark space—and illuminated a cigar box. Even before she reached for it, Lindsay knew that this box was what her grandmother had placed inside the fireplace brick all those years ago.

 

Since taking over the ownership of the 3 OF A KIND, Buffalo Bob had learned one important lesson about tending bar. Folks wanted to be greeted by a smiling, friendly face. His customers came in for cold beer and warm conversation.

Some wanted a willing ear to listen to their troubles, their sorry lot in life, their cheating wives, the unfairness of it all. But under no circumstances did his customers want to hear his own litany of problems.

Until recently, Buffalo Bob's problems were few. He was financially sound, thanks to the Christmas play. For three nights in a row, he'd had lots of customers. The good business had continued throughout the Christmas season; in fact, he'd kept his decorations up, although they were looking a little limp now. Bob was definitely satisfied with life. Even during these hard times he'd showed his biggest profit to date. This year he'd actually be in the black, if he conveniently forgot to pay himself wages.

His concerns had nothing to do with money and everything to do with Merrily. She'd been away a long time now, and Buffalo Bob was beginning to believe she wouldn't be back.

A week before Christmas, he'd gotten a card from her. She hadn't told him where she was, but the smudged postmark said California. The sun shone in California even in the dead of winter. If Merrily was sunning herself on some beach, it wasn't likely she'd be in any hurry to get back to him in North Dakota.

Dammit all, he missed her.

“What're you looking so down in the mouth about?” Dennis Urlacher asked, stepping into the bar.

“Not much,” Buffalo Bob told him. He'd been restocking the bar, his thoughts distracted. He knew without asking what Dennis usually ordered and placed a cold bottle of beer on the counter.

“Want to see a menu?” Bob was hoping to increase his food sales and had made up a special appetizer menu that catered to his bar customers.

“No, thanks.” Dennis took a swig of beer.

“So, how was your Christmas?” Buffalo Bob asked. His own had been miserable without Merrily, even though he'd never given a rat's ass about the holiday before.

“It was all right,” Dennis answered without much enthusiasm.

“You spent it with Joshua McKenna and his family?”

“I did.”

“You have people in the area, don't you?”

“My parents,” Dennis said, taking another swig of beer. “They weren't pleased that I stayed in town.”

“Frankly, you don't look that happy about it yourself.” Buffalo Bob was getting fairly good at identifying a customer's mood.

“I got a problem with a teenager.”

Buffalo Bob retreated a step and raised both hands. “Hey, man, I thought you were smarter than that. Teenage girls are jailbait.”

“It's not what you're suggesting,” Dennis snapped

“Whew.” Buffalo Bob was genuinely relieved. “Thought you had a thing going with Sarah?”

“I do.”

“Sarah's got a teenage daughter, doesn't she?” Buffalo Bob asked, thinking out loud. Yeah, that had to be it. Sarah's kid was the problem.

“Calla isn't exactly fond of me,” Dennis muttered. “And that's putting it mildly.”

He didn't need to say more. Bob got the picture. If it weren't for Calla, Dennis and Sarah would probably be married by now.

“Maybe you ought to spend some time with the kid,” Buffalo Bob said, trying to be helpful. “Try to make friends with her.”

Dennis laughed. “And risk getting my head bit off? She doesn't want me hanging around, doesn't want anything to do with me. One postcard from her good-for-nothing father and she's convinced her parents are about to remarry. That's what she wants.”

“Which naturally paints you as the bad guy.”

Dennis answered with a nod, then stared off into space. “The thing is, I want to marry Sarah, want us to have kids ourselves.”

It went without saying that as long as the teenage daughter put up a fuss, it wasn't going to happen. Buffalo Bob didn't envy Dennis, but then he had woman problems of his own.

Dennis left soon afterward, and Brandon Wyatt walked into the bar. He looked like hell.

“A beer, right?” He pointed both index fingers in the farmer's direction.

Brandon nodded, and Bob set a cold, frosty bottle on the counter. If and when Brandon wanted to talk, Buffalo Bob would be ready with a willing ear. From the way the farmer slouched on that stool, huddled over his beer, Bob could tell he was hurting.

“Have a nice Christmas?” he asked casually.

Brandon glanced up, irritation on his face. “Just great.”

Okay, so Brandon wasn't in a talking mood; Bob could deal with that. He made himself scarce, disappearing into the back room to unload cases of beer. A few minutes later, he heard another customer enter.

Poking his head around the corner, he saw it was Gage Sinclair. “Be with you in a minute,” he called out. Gage, he knew, was sweet on the new schoolteacher. Buffalo Bob had seen the chalk on the blackboard soon after Lindsay Snyder arrived in town. Oh, yeah, Gage was interested. They'd gotten off to a slow start but seemed to be making up for lost time.

When he'd finished in the storeroom, Buffalo Bob headed out front. “You want a beer?” he asked.

“Sure. I'll have a draft.”

Bob paused, wondering if he was seeing things. Gage Sinclair had that same down-in-the-mouth expression as Dennis Urlacher and Brandon Wyatt. What the hell was happening?

Gage slouched on a stool, a space down from his neighbor. They were ignoring each other—and Bob wasn't about to wade into conversation with either one of them. His best bet was to shut up.

He set a glass of beer on the counter and Gage nodded his thanks. Turning away, Buffalo Bob was about to pour them each a small bowl of peanuts when Brandon finally spoke.

“Joanie left.”

Bob hesitated, uncertain whether the comment was meant for him or Gage. “Left?” he asked.

“Moved out, lock, stock and barrel.”

“Joanie?” Gage repeated, sounding incredulous.

Buffalo Bob was equally shocked. He didn't know Brandon's wife well, but he liked her. The day she'd sung with the karaoke machine had been one of the most enjoyable afternoons he'd had in a long time. Soon afterward, she'd come into the bar and asked him to recommend a bottle of wine for their anniversary dinner. That didn't sound like someone who was planning to divorce her husband.

Buffalo Bob didn't often have people asking his advice on matters such as this, and it'd made him feel good. Joanie had a contagious laugh and a bright spirit. Merrily had said she'd like to know her better, but then neither she nor Bob had seen Joanie again, other than to pass her on the sidewalk.

“What about the kids?” Gage asked before Buffalo Bob had a chance.

“They went with her.” Brandon stared straight ahead, looking at the wall as if there was something really important written there instead of a neon sign advertising the brand of beer he drank.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Gage said.

“Yeah.”

His wife had left him and taken his family with her, and all Brandon Wyatt had to say was “Yeah”? Buffalo Bob didn't get it. “She's coming back, isn't she?” he asked urgently.

Frowning, Brandon took a swallow of beer. “I doubt it.”

One glance told Bob it hadn't been easy for Brandon to deal with this. “I'm real sorry.”

“It's my own damn fault,” Brandon said, showing emotion for the first time. His voice vibrated with anger. “I should've known better than to get involved with a city girl.”

Gage didn't say anything, but Buffalo Bob could see that Brandon's words had affected him. If ever Buffalo Bob had seen a city girl, it was Lindsay Snyder. It'd be a pity if Gage called a halt to the relationship for such a flimsy reason. Well, Bob considered it flimsy. People could adapt to all kinds of circumstances; he knew that as well as anyone.

“What do you mean by city girl?” Buffalo Bob asked, figuring that whatever Brandon said would tell Gage that Lindsay was different. She hadn't complained once, not that he knew of, at any rate. The lack of shopping malls or fancy restaurants didn't seem to bother her. Nor had he witnessed any evidence of big-city attitude. Without her, Buffalo Valley would have been a ghost town inside of five years, and they all knew it.

“Joanie was born and raised in Fargo.”

“Fargo isn't exactly the big city,” Buffalo Bob commented.

“How long has it been since
you
were in Fargo?” Brandon asked, his voice hard. “She never knew what it meant to be a farmer's wife, never had a farmer's mentality. It's not her fault,” he added, “she just didn't know.”

“That's why she left?” Gage asked.

“She left because I wouldn't sell the farm.”

Neither man spoke much after that. No more talk was needed. Gage and Brandon both understood that the lifeblood of the family was in the land. Without it, they lost their purpose, their identity. It wasn't that Brandon
wouldn't
sell the land that had been in his family for three generations. He couldn't. Without the farm, he wouldn't know who or what he was.

By the time Buffalo Bob closed down for the night, he was tired and worn-out. People had been in and out of the 3 OF A KIND all evening, and they all had their troubles. His own seemed twice as heavy after he'd listened to those of his friends. Hell of a way to start the new year. Didn't bode too well for his party, either.

After locking the place, he crawled into bed, but tired though he was, he couldn't sleep. That was when he heard the first sound, coming from downstairs. Someone had broken in and was creeping around. He lay there quietly, listening, hoping it was merely the building creaking and groaning as it settled. A few minutes later, he knew for sure that he had an intruder. As quietly as possible, he pulled on his pants and reached for the baseball bat he kept in the corner of his room for just such an eventuality.

From the direction of the sounds, it seemed that whoever was there had gone into his office. That was where he kept the cash. He hurried down the stairs in bare feet. Then, staying in the shadows, he edged his way toward the office and peeked inside. The moonlight showed him a flash of dark hair.

With a growl, he stepped into the room and threw on the light switch.

A woman's startled cry followed.

Buffalo Bob took one look and dropped the baseball bat. “Merrily!” Not another second passed before she was in his arms.

“You scared the living daylights out of me,” she cried, looping her thin arms around his neck. His sense of excitement and happiness was so great, he lifted her right off the ground.

“I didn't want to wake you,” she whispered.

She'd still had a key to the front door and had let herself in. She'd gone into his office, searching for the key to her old room. Buffalo Bob didn't care if she
had
been after his cash box. He would've cheerfully given her every cent.

“Glad to see me, are you?” she asked, her expression changing as she smiled down on him. She bent her head and gave him a kiss so potent it nearly buckled his knees. He knew without a doubt that she'd missed him as much as he'd missed her.

“You back for good this time?” he asked, when he had the breath to form the question.

Her smile was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in months. “Probably not,” she told him, “but I promise you'll be glad I'm here for however long I stay.”

Buffalo Bob groaned, then carried her straight into his bedroom. From now on, she'd be sleeping there with him. That was where she belonged.

 

Gage was over at Brandon Wyatt's farm when Lindsay phoned the first Friday of the New Year. His mother handed him the message when he walked in the door. He stared at it a long time, not knowing what to think. Brandon's warning about getting involved with a city girl had struck a nerve with him. As attracted as he was to Lindsay—and much as he admired what she'd done for the town—he knew she didn't really understand their ways. But all the warnings in the world couldn't keep him from thinking about her and what her kisses did to him. They'd reached the point where kissing was no longer enough. More and more he thought about what it would be like to make love to Lindsay, to hold her in his arms, sleep with her beside him. To love her the way a man was meant to love a woman.