Always Dakota, Page 3

  Matt couldn’t really argue with that, especially when he looked at Sheryl, with her lush body, large full breasts and long legs. What he’d seen of Margaret, and that was damn little, was no comparison.

  “You said two things,” he reminded her.

  Sheryl’s sultry smile returned. “I’d make damn sure you wanted to come back to me,” she whispered. As if to prove herself, she showed him exactly what she meant.

  Two

  Minutes for the November 23rd meeting of the Buffalo Valley Town Council

  As recorded by Hassie Knight, Secretary and Treasurer, duly elected.

  The meeting was brought to order by council president Joshua McKenna with the Pledge of Allegiance to the American flag. Council members in attendance were Joshua McKenna, Dennis Urlacher, Heath Quantrill, Robert Carr, Gage Sinclair and Hassie Knight. Reverend Larry Dawson was an invited guest.

  In the matter of old business, Joshua McKenna reported that a new siren has been installed by the Volunteer Fire Department. It will be used to alert the community in the event of a fire and to summon volunteers to the station. While the alarm was being tested, there were several complaints regarding the loud, piercing sound. Mrs. Summerhill, an elderly friend visiting Leta Betts, assumed the siren was an early warning of an air attack and was upset to learn there were no bomb shelters in Buffalo Valley. Joshua McKenna suggested a sign be posted informing visitors about the meaning of the siren.

  Also in the matter of old business, it was reported that the high school will not be putting on the annual Christmas play this December, due to the birth of Mrs. Sinclair’s daughter. Gage Sinclair provided the council with the most current pictures of two-month-old Joy Leta Sinclair and reported that both mother and daughter are doing well.

  In the matter of new business, the council officially welcomed Reverend Larry Dawson back to the community. Although his family has long since moved away, Larry has fond memories of growing up in Buffalo Valley. If all goes well, Larry and his wife, Joyce, plan to retire here. A buffet lunch was served following the meeting, catered by Bob Carr of 3 OF A KIND.

  Joshua McKenna announced that the growth of Buffalo Valley has attracted the attention of our state government. He has been contacted by the governor’s office, inquiring what actions town council has undertaken to bring about the changes. Further to this subject, Dennis Urlacher reported that Sarah now has five full-time employees and has expanded the business into the building connected to the one she now occupies. Because Buffalo Valley Quilts is attracting not only business, but tourists, Dennis suggested a beautification program, including stone flowerpots and flags on each corner for the Fourth of July. The matter was discussed, but a vote delayed until after Christmas.

  The meeting adjourned at twelve-thirty for the luncheon to welcome Reverend Larry Dawson.

  Respectfully submitted,

  Hassie Knight

  “Bob! Bob!”

  Merrily’s cry jolted Buffalo Bob Carr out of a deep sleep. Hearing the panic in his wife’s voice, he instantly threw aside the covers and bolted out of bed. She called him a second time but Bob was already staggering toward Axel’s bedroom. The toddler had been fussy all night and they’d taken turns comforting him. Bob felt sure the two-year-old was coming down with another ear infection. Each bout seemed to be worse than the one before.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

  Merrily sat on the edge of the bed with Axel in her arms. “Look. He’s got a rash or something. What is it?”

  Bob rubbed his eyes, then stared at the child in the dim light. Axel gazed up at him, his brown eyes filled with fear. Merrily was gazing at him, too, her face anxious.

  Bob let out a short, abrupt laugh. “That, my dear wife, is chicken pox. Axel has chicken pox.”

  Merrily framed the boy’s face between her hands and studied him intently. “Where did he get them?”

  Bob shrugged. “Who knows? It’s contagious. Every kid gets chicken pox at some time or other.”

  “But he’s miserable!”

  Bob didn’t know much about childhood diseases, but he knew chicken pox was a common enough ailment. “I’ll go and see Hassie in the morning. I’m sure there’s something she can suggest.”

  “Daddy, Daddy.” Axel stretched his arms toward Bob.

  “I’ll stay with him,” Bob volunteered, knowing Merrily had been up most of the night.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, and kissed Axel’s head before she handed him to Bob.

  With regret Bob watched her return to their bedroom, wishing he could join her. Instead, he slipped beneath the covers in the narrow single bed and cradled Axel against his chest. The boy rested his head there and whimpered softly. “Hurt, Daddy, hurt.”

  Bob pressed his hand against Axel’s forehead and noted that he didn’t have a fever. Merrily had probably already given him Tylenol. “Try to sleep,” Bob urged.

  Axel nodded. “Sing the song about nannytucket.”

  Grinning, he shook his head. Merrily didn’t approve of his singing off-color ditties to the boy. Especially the one that started “There once was a man from Nantucket.”

  Instead he hummed a nursery rhyme the two had learned from a Barney video. Six months ago, if anyone had told him he’d willingly sit with a two-year-old to watch a purple dinosaur, Bob would have called that person a bold-faced liar.

  Trusting and small, Axel nestled in his muscular arms. In the faint light, Bob ran his hand over the youngster’s head, still humming softly. He loved the boy as dearly and completely as if they shared the same blood. However, his feelings for Axel hadn’t started out that way.

  Nearly four years ago Bob had been riding through Buffalo Valley on his Harley when he met Dave Ertz. Dave owned the bar and grill, which was also the town’s only hotel. He’d been trying to sell it, but when no buyers materialized, Dave—an inventive sort—had thrown a poker game with a thousand-dollar entry fee. The winner got the entire business, lock, stock and barrel. Bob won with three of a kind, hence the bar’s new name.

  Bob had been a loner and a drifter all his adult life. Because he rode a Hog, most people assumed he was part of the biker crowd. Bob enjoyed the reputation—he dressed the part, talked the talk—but he’d never been a gang member or participated in gang activities.

  He’d been in business a few months, struggling to make ends meet the same way Dave had, when Merrily appeared. He’d recognized immediately that they were two of a kind. Now, with Axel, they were three of a kind. He grinned—three of a kind. Just like the bar.

  Merrily had walked in one day looking for a job, and despite his lack of spare cash and customers, he’d hired her on the spot. Bob had sensed then that she was more than simply passing through his town—and his life.

  They hit it off, and within weeks, Bob was entertaining thoughts of asking Merrily to move in with him, when suddenly she disappeared. That first time, the second time, too, had unsettled him. After that, he’d realized this was a pattern with her. Sometime around the third year, her visits came fast and furious and then one day, out of the blue, she showed up with Axel.

  Bob knew the kid didn’t belong to her. For one thing, the timing was all wrong. And whenever Bob asked her about Axel, she clammed up. Once, when he’d pressured her, she’d flippantly announced she’d won him in a poker game. Funny, real funny.

  Not knowing the kid’s background was worry enough, but during those first few weeks, the boy was also a real pain in the butt. He constantly needed attention and no matter what Bob did, Axel refused to look him in the face. The toddler clung to Merrily, which proved to be downright frustrating to a man in need of his woman.

  Little by little, the details came out, and Bob learned that the burn scars on Axel’s thighs had come from his father. His parents had physically and mentally abused him; heaven only knew what would’ve happened had Merrily not been there to protect him. When it looked as though they were going to sell Axel to the highest bidder, Merrily
had taken him herself. It went without saying that if the authorities were ever to find Axel, she’d be hip-deep in trouble. Him, too, seeing that he was part of all this now.

  When he’d heard some of what the little boy had suffered at the hands of his parents, Bob’s heart softened. He hadn’t been keen on sharing Merrily, but she’d made it plain that she and Axel came as a package deal. Within a month he felt as protective toward the boy as Merrily did.

  Soon Bob found himself looking forward to spending time with the child. At night, after Axel’s bath, he often read to him. Merrily claimed that Bob’s stories were the only thing Axel would sit still for. Bob had never felt completely responsible for another human being before; now he did. Now he had someone who needed him and loved him unconditionally. In the same way that Merrily was the only mother Axel had, Bob became his father.

  After a trip to the doctor’s office, when Axel developed his first ear infection, it became apparent that they were going to need a forged birth certificate. Bob had obtained one; that same day, he bought an engagement ring and asked Merrily to marry him.

  She agreed, and their wedding was the best day of his life. The entire town of Buffalo Valley had celebrated with them. Bob had never known such happiness. Merrily was his wife and for all intents and purposes, Axel was his son. Life was good—and he should have known it wouldn’t last. Should have realized that anything this perfect was bound to fall apart, probably sooner rather than later.

  He and Merrily had been married only a few weeks when Bob learned that Axel’s picture had appeared on a flyer sponsored by the Foundation for Missing Children. It had circulated throughout the country.

  How many had turned up in Buffalo Valley, Bob didn’t know. Most folks tossed them aside without looking carefully, and anyone who might have recognized Axel wasn’t saying. But the fact remained: the authorities were searching for Axel. Not knowing what to do, Bob had discussed the situation with Maddy, who until recently had been employed as a social worker. Circumstances being what they were, Bob wasn’t exactly able to disguise his predicament.

  Maddy gave him the name of an attorney in Georgia she said he could trust. A man who specialized in difficult cases like this one.

  Yes, Merrily had stolen Axel and transported him over state lines, but in doing so she’d saved his life. Bob’s greatest fear was that if he approached the lawyer, he’d be in danger of losing both Merrily and Axel. His life wouldn’t be worth living without them. But the crazy part, the incredible part, was that no one seemed to have connected Axel with the boy in the flyer. Within a few weeks, Bob began to believe they’d had a lucky escape, so he’d done nothing more. He hadn’t called the lawyer. Why look for trouble? In the months since, the only people they’d allowed near Axel were townsfolk. No one had questioned either Merrily or him about the boy, and he trusted that the people in this town, whether they were aware of the truth or not, would protect the family as much as possible.

  Axel stirred, and Bob could see that the boy had fallen asleep. Lovingly, he leaned down and kissed his forehead. No one was taking this child away. As God was his witness, he wouldn’t let that happen.

  “Sleep well, little man,” he whispered, awake and alert.

  Three weeks following the burial of Bernard Clemens, Matt Eilers decided to pay Margaret a condolence visit. Sheryl continually pestered him about it, wanting to know when he intended to see the dead rancher’s daughter. She’d gone so far as to tell him what to say and how to act. The idea of marrying Margaret Clemens—or any woman—for money was repugnant to him. Sheryl tried to make it sound as though he’d be doing the poor girl a favor, but Matt wasn’t naive enough to swallow that. He did, however, feel almost sorry for Margaret. She wasn’t outright homely, but she wasn’t pretty, either. Tall and skinny, she didn’t have much of a shape. She was definitely lacking in charm and in social skills, and she seemed rather lonely.

  Sheryl argued that Margaret was ripe for the picking and if Matt didn’t marry her, then someone less scrupulous would. Of all the arguments she’d put forth, that one struck him as true.

  Snow had fallen the week before, and his tires crunched on the gravel drive as he pulled to a stop in the Clemens yard. No one came out to greet him, so he moved onto the back porch and with his hat in his hand, waited for someone to answer his knock.

  The housekeeper appeared. Her name was Sadie, he recalled from that first and only visit. It suited her—a plain, old-fashioned name. “You’re here to see Margaret?” she asked, her gruff tone devoid of welcome.

  “I’d like to pay my respects.”

  “Seems to me you’re about three weeks late.”

  Matt let the comment slide. He knew one thing for sure: if he did marry Margaret, the first thing he’d do was hire a different housekeeper. The thought pulled him up short. Sheryl was getting to him. He wasn’t going to marry Margaret, no matter how many arguments Sheryl advanced.

  He remembered reading advice from Ann Landers years ago, in a newspaper he’d found in a doctor’s waiting room. She’d said something to the effect that the people who worked hardest for their money were those who married for it. Matt wasn’t in the habit of shying away from real work, and he didn’t intend to live off anyone else. When he was able to buy the Stockert ranch, it would be with money he’d earned himself.

  “Margaret’s in the barn,” the housekeeper told him. Her gaze narrowed as if she were Bernard Clemens himself warning Matt to tread lightly around his daughter.

  “How is she?”

  Sadie paused. “She has good days and she has bad days.”

  “She was close to her father, wasn’t she?”

  The housekeeper nodded. “Mr. Clemens was a good man. Margaret is a good person, too.” With that, she slammed the door, leaving him to make his own way to the barn. Not that Matt needed anyone to draw him a map, but he would have appreciated at least the pretense of welcome.

  He found Margaret inside the huge structure that put his own barn to shame. She was dressed in a heavy coat and thick boots; a knit cap covered her head. Her hair, which she’d grown over the past year, was pulled away from her face and tied at the base of her neck. He could see she’d had it curled. Working at a fast and furious pace, she pitched hay into an empty stall, her back toward him. Matt breathed in the satisfying scents of horses, straw and well-oiled leather.

  “Margaret,” Matt called softly, not wanting to frighten her.

  She whirled around and when she saw him, she stood transfixed, as if she’d been waiting for exactly this moment for a very long time. “Matt!”

  “I wanted to stop by and tell you how sorry I am about your father.”

  She stared at him with wide, adoring eyes, then raised her sleeve to her red nose, cheeks ruddy with exertion. So it was true, what Bernard had said—she was in love with him. But despite Sheryl’s urging, he refused to do anything about it. He wouldn’t lead Margaret to believe he reciprocated her feelings—or that they had any kind of future.

  “I knew you’d come,” she whispered.

  He looked away, embarrassed that it’d taken him three weeks to make an appearance. “I meant to get here before this.”

  Her timid smile forgave him and he wanted to kick himself. Sheryl was right, even if her reasons were wrong; he should have come earlier.

  “Your father was highly thought of around here.”

  Margaret nodded, and he could see by the way her lip trembled that she was fighting back emotion. “I miss him something fierce.”

  “I know you do.” Matt remembered when his own father died. He’d been fifteen, an age when it was difficult to express grief. He’d feared that if other kids saw him cry, they’d call him a sissy, so he’d lashed out at his mother. Why, he didn’t know. Probably because his parents had divorced and he’d blamed her, always blamed her. She never knew—or perhaps she did—that he’d been the person who’d slashed her tires. He’d done it in a fit of rage, and that had been the beginning of trouble for him. Before h
e was out of his teen years, he’d had more than one scrape with the law.

  Now his mother, too, was dead, and he carried a double load of grief—and guilt. He didn’t think about his parents much, not anymore, but the memories never quite left him.

  “Would you like to come inside?”

  Her eyes were hopeful, and Matt didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.

  “I’d offer you a beer, but Maddy told me—” She closed her mouth abruptly and blushed. “Sadie keeps a pot of coffee on all day.”

  “Coffee would be fine. I can’t stay long.” Especially if Sadie was going to be giving him the evil eye. What had Maddy told her? he wondered next. That he drank too much? That he couldn’t be trusted? Obviously, his reputation had preceded him.

  Margaret led the way into the house, stopping just inside the heated porch to remove her jacket and boots; he did the same. She opened the kitchen door and they were greeted by an array of warm, inviting smells. Matt glanced around, relieved that Sadie was nowhere in sight.

  Matt noted the coveralls Margaret wore. They were shapeless and about the most unflattering piece of clothing she could have chosen. Yet when she stood on tiptoe to reach for a cup in the top cupboard, he was stunned to see that she had a halfway decent body.

  Scolding himself, Matt forced his gaze elsewhere.

  “Sadie bakes the most delicious cookies,” she told him as she opened the cookie jar and placed a dozen or so on a china plate. “I’d suggest we sit in the den, but neither of us is dressed for it.”

  Margaret slowly approached the table, carrying a serving tray with two small china cups, sugar, cream and the plate of chocolate chip cookies.

  “I’ll pour,” she announced grandly, as if this feat required unusual skill. She left and returned with the coffeepot and filled each floral-patterned cup to the brim, then smiled hesitantly, apparently awaiting his approval.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled, uncertain what was expected of him. He felt nervous even touching the dainty porcelain cup, afraid he might snap off the delicate handle.