Dakota Born (31 page)

“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.

T
he 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.”

“You're right.”

“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.”

Lindsay smiled. Since that Monday afternoon conversation with Hassie, the winter doldrums had all but vanished. “It was a terrific suggestion.”

“It was,” Hassie agreed, “and I take full credit.” She paused, then asked tentatively, “Gage
is
coming, right?”

“I…I haven't asked him yet.”

“I've got Leta's refill on her blood pressure medication. You could always drive that out to her and, while you're there, casually mention to Gage that you need another chaperon.”

“I could,” Lindsay said, more than willing to participate in a bit of minor subterfuge.

She left for the farm soon afterward. The afternoon was cold and crisp and, as she drove, Lindsay lost sense of time and distance. All that gave her perspective were fence lines and telephone poles. Out here, away from town, Lindsay felt a peace, a stillness. There was a beauty in this white emptiness that she was only beginning to appreciate.

When she arrived at the farm, Leta greeted her as if it'd been months since they'd last spoken. Trying not to be obvious, Lindsay looked around for Gage.

“He's working in the barn,” Leta told her with a knowing smile. “I'm sure he'd like to talk to you.”

Lindsay wasn't convinced of that, but sought him out anyway. When she walked into the barn, she saw him bent over the tractor, tinkering with the engine, his hands greasy and a pink rag tucked in his hip pocket. He couldn't have been more different from Monte. This was a man who used his hands, a man who knew the meaning of hard work. Real work. She hadn't known him long, and yet she'd seen his soul. She'd read his heart. She'd heard him speak of lying in a field with his eyes closed, listening to the grass sigh. Felt his love for the land as he scooped up the dry earth and let the wind carry it. They shared a bond, the secret of their grandparents' love and the daughter that love had created. They shared other things, too, not as easily defined.

And that shattering attraction between them…

She must have watched him for at least a minute before he became aware of her presence.

Gage glanced over his shoulder and their eyes met. “Lindsay.” The way he spoke her name was soft and yearning, and she saw the longing in his eyes before he could disguise it. He looked away, straightened, then set aside the wrench. He pulled out the rag and wiped his hands clean.

“I dropped off your mother's blood pressure medication,” she said, turning to point back at the house.

“I heard about the dance.”

She remained just inside the barn, uncertain. “I came to ask a favor,” she finally said.

He nodded.

“I could use an extra chaperon.”

“Just let me know what time and I'll be there.”

“Thank you.” With a quick smile, Lindsay started to turn away.

“Lindsay.” He walked toward her, and when he reached her, he sighed. “I—”

“Shh.” Lindsay touched her finger to his lips. “You don't need to say it,” she whispered.

He frowned. “What?”

“You want to tell me you missed me—I know because I feel the same way. But you're not sure how to say it.”

“You're wrong. I do know how to say it.” He settled his mouth over hers. His kiss was tender and as smooth as velvet.

“Oh, Gage,” she whispered, her hands on his face, loving the feel of his skin against her fingertips.

“I'm filthy,” he moaned. “I don't dare touch you.”

“I dare…”

His mouth trembled when she kissed him with all the pent-up longing of these past few weeks. He groaned as she deepened the kiss, parting her lips. Her arms went around him then, but he kept his hands at his sides to avoid smearing engine grease on her coat. Lindsay wouldn't have cared if he had.

They kissed again and she closed her eyes as hard as she could, wanting to block out the immutable reality of their differences. When she opened them again, Gage had backed her against the barn door and his upper body was pressed against hers, his mouth exploring the side of her throat.

“We're crazy,” he whispered huskily. “This is crazy.”

“Then so be it. Just don't stop.”

“I don't think I could if I wanted to, only I've got to wash my hands. This is torture.”

He lifted his head to pull away, but Lindsay wouldn't let him. “Torture, you say?” She released a slow, sexy laugh. “I like the sound of that.” Wrapping her fingers around the metal clasps of his coveralls, she dragged him back to her. Before he could protest, she'd covered his mouth with her own, kissing him with an open-mouthed aggression that left him groaning.

“Lindsay, please…”

“Do you want to show me your hayloft?” she teased, not nearly as in control as she led him to believe.

The sound of footsteps alerted them both that someone was entering the barn. They broke apart an instant before Kevin strolled in.

The boy stopped midstride and, embarrassed, glanced from one to the other. “I didn't mean—I…”

“Don't worry, you didn't interrupt anything.” Gage's eyes found hers as if to say
more's the pity.

“I saw Miss Snyder's car and—”

“It's all right, Kevin. I came to ask your brother if he wouldn't mind chaperoning the dance.”

“Oh.”

“Do you have any objection to my being there?” Gage asked.

“No, sure, that's fine by me. I, uh, guess I'll be heading back to the house, then.”

“Good idea,” Gage said.

Kevin paused at the door. “Mom asked me to tell you it won't be long until dinner and Lindsay's invited if she wants to stay.”

“Tell Mom to put an extra plate at the table. We'll be inside in a few minutes.”

Kevin nodded, looking distinctly relieved to make his escape. As soon as he was gone, Lindsay sagged against the side of the barn.

“Before we go inside, there's something I need to ask you,” Gage said.

“Anything.” She straightened away from the wall, her hands clasped behind her. She knew that the tenderness and the passion that had passed between them was gone.

“Did you find her?”