Dakota Born (32 page)

Lindsay knew who he meant. “Not yet. But I've decided to hire an on-line search company that specializes in cases like this. I'll look on my own, too, on the Internet. If I do find her, I'm not even sure I'll contact her. I want to give it more thought.”

Gage nodded.

She gave a slight shrug. “Despite what you said, though, I can't help feeling she'd want to know about her birth parents. If she doesn't, I'll make no further effort to get in touch with her.”

He shook his head. “It's not that simple. Once she knows, she can't go back to not knowing. You will have changed her life, Lindsay. And think about this—what if no one ever told her she was adopted?” He raised his hands in defeat. “Never mind, we've been through all that. I'd hoped you'd have a change of heart, but I can see you haven't.”

“Can't you understand?”

“No.” He gazed down at his hands. “I just hope you know what you're doing.”

 

Rachel knew before Heath arrived at the dance that he'd volunteered to be a chaperon. She also knew why. He'd never hidden his intentions. He wanted her to be his lover.

The knowledge didn't boost her self-esteem or flatter her ego. In fact, his interest had quite the opposite effect. Oh, she'd briefly been excited by his attention, but she'd done a lot of thinking since the night of their dinner date, and realized a relationship between them couldn't possibly work. They'd been drawn together by their shared losses. But that was all they had in common. Heath was rich and worldly, and she was neither. The physical attraction they shared would wane in time and there would be nothing but regrets. Her marriage had been solid and strong; she knew that physical love was only one small facet of a relationship. She had a son to raise and an example to set. Plain and simply put, she wasn't interested in what Heath had to offer.

Heath, however, saw her attitude as a challenge and refused to give up.

Saturday, the night of the dance, Rachel stood in her pizza kitchen with Sarah Stern, who was taking over for her later in the evening. As soon as the high-school kids finished dinner at Buffalo Bob's, they were coming to Rachel's empty restaurant for the dance. At midnight she'd serve pizza, and then the kids would head home.

For two days, groups of teens had been in and out, decorating the large room that had once been her parents' restaurant. Balloons, crepe paper and big red hearts filled every nook and cranny.

“Are you about done there?” Sarah asked, while Rachel put the finishing touches on a pepperoni pizza.

“Soon.”

“The kids'll be here any time.”

“I know, I know.”

“Heath, too.”

As if Rachel needed reminding. Her friend was fond of stating the obvious. “Did Calla like her dress?” she asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

Sarah crossed her long legs and sighed. “I think she must have. She wore it.”

“You talked her out of wearing the vest you made?”

“It took some persuasive arguments,” Sarah muttered. She shook her head. “She wouldn't even open it Christmas Day, and when she did finally unwrap her gifts, she put it on and hasn't taken it off since.”

Rachel laughed, enjoying the retelling of the story. Calla was certainly a handful and she hoped that when Mark entered his teenage years she'd have as much patience with him as Sarah did with Calla.

“Are you and Dennis stopping by later on?” Rachel asked, knowing that several other parents had told Lindsay they intended to visit at some point during the evening. She dipped her hands into the large bowl of grated cheese, scooped it up and sprinkled it over the pizza's surface.

“Dennis?” Sarah's laugh was answer enough. “He's got two left feet. Besides, Calla would have a hissy fit if Dennis showed up with me. She doesn't want
me
there, let alone Dennis.”

Rachel didn't envy her friend. “Calla's still having trouble accepting him, I take it?”

“I'm afraid so.” Sarah gathered her arms around her middle, as if warding off a chill.

“Give her time,” Rachel suggested. Finished now with the pizza, she placed it on the wire rack of the pizza oven and pushed the button. Ten minutes later the pizza would slide out the other end, perfect and ready to eat.

“Where are you planning to change your clothes?” Sarah asked, glancing around.

“Actually,” Rachel said, wiping her hands down the front of her white apron. “I was thinking of skipping out. Lindsay's got more than enough chaperons.”

Slowly Sarah shook her head. “Sorry, I won't let you do that.”

“Sarah, how can you dictate to me when you won't be there yourself?”

“But I have a good reason. This dance is for Calla, not for me.” She pointed directly at Rachel. “You, on the other hand, are acting like a coward.”

“Oh, please. All I'm doing is avoiding another needless confrontation with Heath Quantrill.”

“At least you're honest enough to admit it.”

“Of course I'm honest. Why shouldn't I be?”

“In my humble opinion, you should give him another chance.”

“Why? He's looking for one thing and I'm looking for another.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of that.” Sarah wasn't going to let up on this, and Rachel realized that she'd actually
wanted
someone to persuade her. “Now go change,” Sarah ordered. “As soon as the pizza's ready I'll deliver it to Dad and then I'll be back.”

“Oh, all right.”

In spite of what she'd said to Sarah, she really didn't mind; in truth, she'd been looking forward to it. Her dress, on loan from Hassie, hung in the restroom around the corner from the kitchen. The 1950s gown was a full-length full-skirted black dress with a scoop neck and long sleeves. It had the elegance of simplicity.

By the time Rachel had finished with her hair, pulling one side up and pinning it back, Sarah was waiting with the pizza in her hand, about to walk out the door. Her smile said she approved.

“The kids are here.”

Rachel could hear a wild song from some rock group she didn't recognize. The kids had sorted through Buffalo Bob's collection of CDs and brought along some of their own.

“How's it going?” She knew the dance portion of the evening had given Lindsay some worry. Never having attended a school dance before, the kids were likely to feel awkward. Lindsay had wanted suggestions for icebreakers, but Rachel didn't have any.

“At this point,” Sarah said with a soft laugh, “all they're doing is staring at one another.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Get out there,” Sarah said. “By the way, you look gorgeous. I almost feel sorry for Heath.”

“Heath, nothing.”

“Don't be so hard-nosed. Everyone's entitled to one mistake.”

Rachel knew she shouldn't have told Sarah what had happened on their dinner date. But at the time, she'd needed someone to share her indignation and outrage.

When she finally did step out of the kitchen, she saw that her friend's assessment of the dance was accurate. The boys, with Heath and Gage, stood on one side of the room and the girls, dressed in their fancy formal gowns, stood on the other, joined by Lindsay and Hassie.

The boys stared down at their shoes. The girls gazed hopefully, dreamily, at the boys, hoping one of them would find the courage to cross the great chasm.

Eventually one of them did, and to her dismay, Heath Quantrill headed directly toward her.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked, and confidently held out his hand. The song was a lovely slow number, Neil Young's
Harvest Moon.

Everyone watched and waited. The girls gazed upon her with wide-eyed envy and the boys marveled at Heath's bravery. Rachel knew she dare not refuse.

With her heart in her throat, she reluctantly placed her hand in Heath's. Together they stepped toward the middle of the freshly polished floor, beneath the crepe paper streamers. A large cut-out of Cupid with his arrow aimed directly at them glowed silver in the dimmed lights.

Heath slipped his arm around her waist and she laid her hand on his shoulder. She held herself as stiffly as she could, unyielding against his gentle pressure. She refused to meet his eyes.

“Relax,” he whispered. “We have an audience.”

“I don't enjoy being the center of attention,” she returned from between clenched teeth.

Thankfully they weren't the only ones on the floor for long. Within a few moments, Kevin Betts joined them with Jessica Mayer. Soon after that, one of the Loomis twins—Larry, Rachel guessed—asked Calla Snyder to dance.

Sarah had designed and sewn Calla's dress—and it was stunning. The girl, whose normal wardrobe consisted of combat boots, black denim jeans and plaid flannel shirts, was transformed into a young beauty. Rachel wasn't the only one who noticed, either. Both of the Loomis twins buzzed around her, and Calla fairly glowed with all the attention. Some girls wore dresses that had been in their families for years, gowns their mothers or grandmothers had worn. Some were fancy, others not. There had been a lot of old trunks opened and closets cleaned in the time before the dance, and a lot of lending and sharing had taken place.

Stan Muller, the youngest of the boys, asked Amanda Jensen to dance. Amanda was a year older and a full foot taller. The difference didn't appear to bother Stan, and Amanda smiled down on him with adoring eyes.

“See, it's not so bad, is it?” Heath whispered as another song began.

Without her being aware of it, he'd brought her closer into his arms as their bodies swayed rhythmically to the mellow sounds of the seventies hit,
Close to You.
His jaw rested against her temple, creating a comfortable intimacy that lulled her into closing her eyes. Had he attempted conversation, she wouldn't have felt that way. But his silence and the music had accomplished what words could never have achieved.

When this second dance ended, she dropped her arms and backed away.

“I made a mistake rushing you, Rachel,” he told her, holding on to her hand, tugging her to the side of the room as a new song started playing. Something fast and raucous. “Give me another chance.”

His words were full of sincerity; so were his eyes. She hesitated, unsure even now that it would be wise. But Heath refused to release her hand until he had his answer.

“All right,” she said. If he hadn't looked so damn earnest, she would have refused. If this was a ploy, Rachel promised herself, Heath Quantrill would rue the day.

Without another word, she turned and walked back to her kitchen.

 

The dance was over, and everyone had left for home except Lindsay and Gage. He surveyed the room; the balloons that hadn't been broken clung to the ceiling. Pink, red and white crepe paper, twisted into streamers, sagged pitifully, dangling down so far they nearly touched the floor.

“You want to clean up now?” he asked. Lindsay looked as wilted as the streamers. She'd worked hard to put this evening together and now that it was over, she seemed ready to collapse.

“Not tonight, Gage. I'm too tired.” Lindsay sat with her feet propped up on a chair. Her shoes had disappeared hours earlier and every now and then she leaned forward to massage her nylon-covered toes.

“Too tired,” she repeated, her lashes fluttering open only long enough to glance at him. “And my feet hurt.”

He chuckled to himself. “Let me walk you home.”

“That would be nice.”

He put his arm about her waist and helped her off the chair.

“One more dance first,” she whispered, sliding her arms around his neck and gazing up at him.

“I thought your feet hurt.”

“Not anymore.”

“Buffalo Bob already picked up his stereo equipment.”

“But I hear music. Don't you?”

“Are you sure no one spiked the punch bowl?” he teased.

“Positive,” she insisted, and looked up at him dreamily. “You don't hear the music?”

He didn't until he placed his arms around her and brought her close. Then it was definitely there, pure melody that flowed between them. Eyes shut, Gage led her gently around the room, their bodies moving in perfect unison to the music in their hearts.

“Oh, Gage, it was a wonderful evening, wasn't it?”

“Perfect.” An evening that her students—and everyone else in town—would long remember.

Kissing Lindsay seemed perfectly natural just then. Their lips met, and he knew that she understood and wanted this, too. He felt almost overpowered by the warmth and emotion that swept through him.

The kissing was good, better even than he remembered, and that seemed impossible. He kissed her again and again until he couldn't bear it any longer. He pulled her close against him, close enough so that she'd know exactly what their kissing was doing to him.