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  Now that he was at the Triple C, he had every intention of going through with the ceremony. If he was making a mistake, then he was doing it with open eyes.

  Sadie’s disapproval was all too evident and implied that Margaret was the one making the mistake. She didn’t even try to hide her distaste for him. He felt her censure the instant he walked into the room. But no matter what the housekeeper thought, it wasn’t anything Matt hadn’t been saying to himself since the moment he’d agreed to this.

  Margaret ignored Sadie, but Matt suspected the two women had done verbal battle over the impending marriage. Clearly Margaret had won the war, but he figured there’d been more than one battle from which she’d walked away wounded. She wanted him and she’d been willing to fight for him; that said a great deal.

  “Pastor Dawson is already here,” Margaret announced, leading Matt by the hand into the library. “Jeb and Maddy are on their way. Gage and Lindsay are coming, too.”

  “Hassie?” he asked, and swallowed tightly.

  Margaret nodded. “And Leta Betts. Joyce Dawson’s here with her husband, as well.”

  Matt wore his best clothes, a ten-year-old suit, and made small talk with Pastor Dawson while he waited for their guests. He was tense and tried to hide his nervousness, talking far more than usual. Everyone arrived within the next fifteen minutes. Soon they all gathered in the very room where Bernard Clemens had warned Matt against hurting his daughter. Now he was marrying Margaret and God help him, he sincerely liked her, but he didn’t love her. Not the way she deserved to be loved.

  Glancing around uneasily, Matt was certain everyone knew why he was doing this. He felt sure that Margaret’s friends believed the worst of him, that the words money, cattle, land echoed in their brains. It was almost as if they all knew about Sheryl and her scheming ideas, although he swore he wanted no part of that.

  Margaret loved him. Bernard Clemens had said as much and Margaret had told him so herself. In time, he hoped to love her with the same intensity. In fact, he was counting on that. He didn’t yet, but he would. Dear God, he prayed that would happen.

  “Is everyone ready?” Larry Dawson asked. He stood before them, his open Bible in his hands.

  Margaret looked at Matt with such adoration, it was all he could do not to turn and bolt from the room. It amazed him that she couldn’t see the truth. He half expected someone to step forward and stop the wedding, claiming he wasn’t a fit husband. But he hoped to be, wanted to be.

  Margaret’s friends and neighbors were as somber as if they were attending a funeral. No one seemed happy except Margaret, who, oblivious to the tension in the room, beamed with joy.

  His bride wore a long white dress and held a small bouquet of pale rosebuds. White…she wore white. He closed his eyes, barely able to concentrate on Pastor Dawson’s words.

  Margaret was a virgin. In all his life, Matt had never slept with a virgin. His women were as experienced as he was. He understood there was pain involved when a woman made love for the first time, and the one thing he didn’t want to do was hurt Margaret. Marrying her might appear heartless, but he did care for her. She was giving him so much—her life, her trust—and little as he had, he would willingly offer that up to her.

  “We are gathered here this afternoon to share in the…”

  Matt blocked out the minister’s words, his thoughts whirling. This was wrong. He knew it even as he repeated his vows, his voice flat and barely audible. Not wrong for him, but for her. Margaret’s loving him was the best luck of his life, but marrying her, pledging himself to her, proved that everything she’d said about him was a lie. A man who was honorable and decent wouldn’t do this.

  Matt tried to concentrate on the words, but his mind soon drifted. He remembered how love had changed Jeb McKenna and Gage Sinclair. Jeb had been a surly, bitter man until Maddy came into his life. He recalled how Gage and Lindsay Snyder had been continually at odds. Every time Matt talked to him, Gage had predicted that Lindsay would abandon the town after the first snowfall. Yet, months later, when she really was about to go, he’d driven his tractor across a freshly planted field in an effort to stop her. Yes, love had changed both men. The only thing Matt expected Margaret to change in his life was the state of his bank account.

  Margaret’s eyes shone as she held Matt’s hand and repeated her vows, her voice loud, clear, distinct.

  After they’d exchanged plain gold bands, Pastor Dawson proclaimed them married. His emotions in turmoil, Matt brought his bride into his arms and kissed her lightly, almost as if they were brother and sister. He saw the disappointment in her eyes and feared this was only the first of many.

  It didn’t surprise him that none of their guests seemed eager to stay. The ceremony was followed by cake and champagne, and a couple of halfhearted toasts. The weather was a perfect excuse to rush home. They were all polite, cordial, but Matt realized he hadn’t fooled anyone, with the exception of Margaret.

  A half hour following the ceremony, they were alone.

  “Hello, husband,” Margaret said, happiness radiating from her. She threw her arms around his neck and gazed lovingly up at him.

  “Wife,” Matt said. Deception was never his strong suit. He kissed her and felt the muscles of his stomach tighten with dread.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. All I’ve had today is wedding cake.”

  It was all he’d eaten, too. He couldn’t force anything into his stomach earlier, and had skipped both breakfast and lunch.

  As they headed into the kitchen, Matt saw that his wife had thought of everything. She had dinner ready to serve, along with wine and music. Nor did Matt need to worry about carrying a conversation. Margaret talked animatedly throughout the meal, bouncing from one subject to the next, asking one question after another; he had merely to reply. They chatted about the ranch, about how he’d give the Stockerts notice and move his things into the house, about combining their herds.

  The wine helped relax him, but the tension returned as soon as Margaret mentioned bed. Matt had never experienced problems performing sexually, but with Margaret, his doubts were rampant. His biggest fear was that she’d guess his true feelings and hate him. He had other fears, too. The fact that she was a virgin intimidated him. Any pain he caused her would undoubtedly be followed by plenty of angst—and regret. The mere thought of what might happen was enough to drive away any hint of desire.

  “Matt,” Margaret whispered, studying him.

  He finished the last of his wine and looked up at her.

  “I might not be beautiful—”

  “It’s not that,” he said, wanting her to know she wasn’t the problem. “You’re an attractive woman. Your eyes are lovely. Your hair…” He let his words drift into silence. His hesitation was due to his own failings, which, at the moment, seemed too many to count.

  He toyed with the idea of suggesting they put off the wedding night, but couldn’t come up with a plausible reason. If she didn’t love him so much, Matt thought he could have found a viable excuse, could have invented one. It was out of the question, though, and he firmed his resolve. He would make love to his wife. He was destined to be a disappointment to her in the future, but he was going to give her a wedding night she wouldn’t soon forget.

  She steered him into the bedroom, then reached over and turned out the light. Matt drew her into his arms and kissed her fully, expecting—he wasn’t sure what, but certainly not this strong surge of passion. Her mouth was soft and moist and pliant, her eager response innocent and sweet. What had intimidated him earlier excited him now.

  “Margaret,” he groaned, shocked at the quick passion she’d created within him. His fingers worked at unfastening the many buttons of her dress. That was a difficult enough task with only the light from a bedside lamp, but nervous as he was, Matt faltered, all thumbs.

  “Here,” she breathed and whirled around, flipping her hair out of the way. “I told Maddy this dress would be impossible.”

  Ma
tt chuckled and patiently unbuttoned the dress. Driven by desire, he slipped his hands inside the bodice and cupped her breasts. He was pleasantly surprised to find her lush and full. A sigh escaped him, echoed by a soft groan from her.

  “Margaret…Margaret.”

  “Oh, Matt, this feels so good,” she whispered. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”

  He closed his eyes, astonished by the intensity of what he was experiencing.

  “You make me feel so beautiful.” She turned to face him, the dim light revealing the shape of her features, the perfection of her skin, the brilliance of her eyes.

  “You are,” he whispered, and she was. It stunned him that he’d ever viewed her as plain, because it simply wasn’t so. Her eyes glowing with love, she brought her palms to his cheeks. Rather than trying to understand the curious mix of emotions that swirled inside him, Matt kissed her. Soon they were devoid of clothes. He pressed her down onto the bed, his engorged penis throbbing.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice husky with need.

  “That would be impossible.”

  “But, Margaret…”

  “Love me, Matt, just love me.”

  He brought her satisfaction with his hands and his mouth, reveling in her shudders and cries. Then he poised himself above her, his arms and legs trembling at the knowledge of what he was about to do. Apparently unwilling to wait any longer, Margaret slid her arms around his neck. He murmured, “Not yet,” and reached for a condom in his wallet, which he’d tossed onto the bedside table.

  As he slipped on the condom, she lifted her head just high enough for their mouths to meet. Urging him with soft sighs, she opened her body to him, giving herself completely. Afraid of causing her pain, Matt kept his movements slow and shallow. Feeling her body suddenly tense, he froze, uncertain how to proceed. It was Margaret who urged him forward, and afterward, it was his sweet, generous wife who comforted him.

  Her innocence had been something Matt dreaded, but now he felt honored and more than that, deeply moved.

  Usually when he slept with a woman, she clung to him, reluctant to let him go, but with Margaret, he was the one who needed to hold her close. He was determined to be a good husband. He might not have married her for love, but he planned to do his utmost to make their marriage beneficial to them both.

  Matt woke at dawn, from years of habit, with Margaret’s warm body tucked against his. His arm was around her waist and he grinned, delighted that beneath the ill-fitting jeans and bulky shirts lay the delectable body of a woman. He’d had a hint of it once, during that first visit to her house, but the reality was so much more impressive.

  “Morning,” she said with a yawn and rolled onto her back. “Morning, husband.”

  “Good morning, wife,” he said and kissed her cheek. “How about I rustle us up some coffee?”

  “That sounds wonderful,” she said, raising herself to a sitting position. “But before you do, I thought we should talk.”

  “Talk? Before coffee?” He frowned. Experience had taught him that when a woman sought conversation, she was generally unhappy about something. They hadn’t been married twenty-four hours. Had he failed her already? “This can’t wait?”

  She took a minute to mull over his question, then shook her head.

  He sat upright and tensed. “Okay, shoot.”

  “I love you, Matt. I’ve loved you for nearly five years, and I’m fully aware that you don’t love me.”

  He’d reached for his pants, but let them drop as he sat on the edge of the bed. She knew, and had married him, anyway. “Then why’d you go through with it?” he demanded, not sure if he should be relieved or depressed.

  “Isn’t that the question I should be asking you?”

  He shook his head. The answer was obvious.

  “I already know you married me for the ranch,” she told him. “I’m not so beautiful, but those cattle of mine certainly are. I’m not naive enough to think you’ve fallen head over heels for me in such a short time.”

  He said nothing, silenced by her honesty.

  “It’s always been important to me to make everything as clear and above-board as possible,” she stated simply, as though reading his mind.

  He nodded.

  “I had to say these things because I don’t want you feeling guilty. I knew how you felt when I asked you to be my husband. It was a risk I was willing to take. Naturally, I hope you’ll have a change of heart and that eventually you’ll love me as much as I love you.”

  Matt stared at his wife, hardly able to believe that he’d been fortunate enough to marry a woman as forthright and plainspoken as Margaret.

  “Do you think you can learn to love me?” she asked quietly.

  Margaret was almost completely unfamiliar with feminine wiles and manipulative behavior. She was innocent and trusting. Over the years he’d had more than his share of beautiful women and he’d learned that beauty usually faded. Prolonged exposure to a woman he’d once found gorgeous inevitably resulted in disappointment. Look at Sheryl, for instance—as vain and selfish as she was beautiful. Margaret was the first woman he’d ever known who possessed such genuineness.

  “I believe I’m halfway in love with you already,” he said. Then, because it seemed the most natural and perfect thing to do, he made love to his wife.

  Sarah sensed almost immediately that there would be problems with the pregnancy. At three weeks she started spotting and, terrified she was about to miscarry, she called Dennis at work.

  Her husband, ashen with fear, raced her into the doctor’s office in Grand Forks, cursing the lack of a medical facility in Buffalo Valley. After a careful examination, Dr. Leggatt, who’d been the attending physician for both Lindsay Sinclair and Maddy, had ordered complete and total bed rest until at least February, and maybe longer. If Sarah hoped to deliver a healthy infant, there was no alternative.

  Never in all her life had Sarah spent this much time in bed.

  “Do you need anything before I head out to work?” Dennis asked this particular morning. It was Wednesday in the third week of December.

  She managed a smile and casually waved him on his way. So far, she’d been able to occupy herself with designing new quilt patterns. Buffalo Valley Quilts had developed to the point that she felt safe venturing beyond the natural-dyed muslin designs she’d started with. These days, she experimented with bright, bold colors and complex patterns.

  With Christmas approaching, the company was busier than ever. Jennifer Logan, who’d worked the longest for Sarah, made trips to and from the house twice a day. It helped Sarah stay involved with what was happening. Jennifer, whom Sarah had recently promoted to manager, had a good head for business. Together they talked over every aspect of the daily schedule. If Jennifer was going to be late or needed an immediate answer, she phoned.

  The telephone was set up next to the bed for just that reason. When it rang, Sarah knew it was either Jennifer or Dennis.

  “Hello,” she said, hoping to sound cheerful and in good spirits, although she’d grown weary of forced bed rest. She followed her physician’s orders because she very badly wanted this child. Nothing in her life had ever come easy and she’d learned that what she treasured most often brought her the greatest pain.

  “Mom.”

  Sarah’s heart froze at the sound of her daughter’s voice. “Calla?”

  “What are you doing home? I called the store and Jennifer told me you weren’t at work. Are you sick?”

  Now, their first conversation in months, wasn’t the time to tell her about the pregnancy. Instead, she avoided the question. “Oh, Calla, it’s so good to hear from you! How are you?”

  “All right.” Her voice was flat, dull, and Sarah could only imagine what had been left unsaid.

  “Me, too.” She’d say anything just to keep the conversation going. “Where are you?”

  “Home.”

  Sarah had to bite her tongue to keep from insisting that Calla’s ho
me was and always would be with her. She didn’t bother to ask why her daughter wasn’t at school this time of day.

  “I bought a phone card. Dad doesn’t have long-distance service.”

  Probably because he couldn’t be trusted to pay the bill, but Sarah didn’t say what was already obvious.

  “Juliet said you called on Thanksgiving.”

  Juliet must have been the woman who’d answered the phone at Willie’s place. “Your grandfather did—we were hoping to talk to you.”

  “I was working.” Calla sounded none too pleased about that. “Juliet’s moved in with Dad, but I doubt it’ll last,” she added, almost in afterthought. “It never does.”

  “What about Christmas?” Sarah asked, plunging ahead, hoping Calla would consider joining them, if only for a few days. “Will you be working then, too?”

  “I…I was sort of thinking about coming back to Buffalo Valley around then.”

  Sarah’s relief was so great, it was all she could do not to break into sobs. She didn’t dare reveal too much emotion. Not to Calla. She cleared her throat. “That would be fabulous. We’d love it if you could.”

  “Just for a visit, Mom, so don’t go hyper on me.”

  “I won’t,” Sarah promised, although she wasn’t entirely sure what she was agreeing to.

  “How’s Jessica?” Calla asked about her best friend next.

  “Jessica? Good, great,” Sarah reported. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the last time she’d talked with the girl. It must be months now. She’d been so busy with the business; she rarely had any opportunity to see the people who’d once been close to her daughter. Jessica and the others hadn’t asked about Calla, either. After so many months of not hearing from her, they’d given up.

  “What about Joe?”

  “Joe Lammermann?” It was a mistake to ask, but Sarah didn’t realize that until it was too late.

  “Of course Joe Lammermann. I went to the Sweetheart Dance with him last February, remember? You’re supposed to be my mother. I thought real mothers remembered details like that.”