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  “I have a right to know my father,” Calla insisted.

  “So you want to move?”

  “Yes. Someplace where there’s a mall—where I don’t have to order what I want from a catalog. Someplace where I can meet other kids and hang out.”

  Her mother said nothing.

  “We’re here because of Dennis, aren’t we?”

  “Calla…”

  “I hate him.”

  “That’s so unfair!”

  “You’d be willing to move if it wasn’t for him,” Calla snarled.

  Her mother didn’t confirm or deny the truth of that.

  “He must be real good in bed,” she said, unwilling to hide her disgust. No one thought she knew they were lovers, but she’d figured it out a long time ago. More than once, Calla had heard her mother slip out of the house in the dead of night and then sneak back just before morning.

  Dennis had tried to talk to her, but Calla wanted nothing to do with him.

  “Dennis is seeing someone else now,” her mother said quietly.

  “Good.” Calla was delighted. “Can we move then?”

  “No. Buffalo Valley is my home.”

  “Well, it isn’t mine. I’m sick of it here.”

  Her mother didn’t say anything for a long time, long enough that Calla suspected she was about to end this farce of a conversation. Just leave, she thought fiercely. They were incapable of communicating. Her mother saw her as a child and insisted she knew what was best for her. She didn’t know her. Calla hated living in a small town, hated the fact she was an only child and that her parents were divorced. She wanted to be part of a real family.

  “I do know what you’re feeling,” her mother whispered.

  Calla snickered contemptuously.

  “When I was your age, I hated living in Buffalo Valley, too. I could hardly wait to get out. The day after I graduated, I packed my bags and took the bus to Minneapolis.”

  Calla intended on doing the same thing. Two more years and she was out of here forever. If she lasted that long. Another two years seemed intolerable.

  “I discovered some painful truths while I was away,” her mother continued.

  “Oh, puleese, Mother, spare me the dramatics.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I don’t really care to hear how you suffered.”

  “My marriage was a disaster—”

  “Whose fault was that?” Calla demanded. “Were you sleeping around on my father then, too?” She knew she’d gone too far when her mother leaped to her feet and raised her hand to Calla.

  Protecting her head, Calla waited for the blow, but nothing happened. “One day you’ll know the truth,” she said, and Calla could see how much of an effort Sarah had to make to keep from slapping her.

  “The truth,” she spat. “I know everything already. You took me away from my father and brought me to this dying town and I hate you for it.”

  Her mother dropped her arm, her face red, her eyes bright with anger. “I once told my mother I hated her, too,” she said. “Then, before she died, I begged her to forgive me. One day you’ll beg me to forgive you, too.”

  “I’ll rot in hell first.”

  Her mother walked to the door, then turned back. “I wonder if my mother felt the same disgust for me that I feel for you right now.”

  “Whatever,” Calla said with a sneer.

  Jeb’s Christmas had been quiet, but that was what he preferred. He’d decided to treat it as an ordinary day.

  Sarah had phoned to thank him for the picture frame he’d made, with a design of sunflowers carved into it. He’d found an old wedding photograph of their parents and set it inside, knowing how much Sarah would treasure the gift.

  He hadn’t talked to Calla, who was busy somewhere else when he phoned. His guess was that she felt just as grateful as he did not to be trapped in an awkward telephone conversation. He’d given her a similar frame, though smaller, holding her mother’s high-school graduation picture.

  His father claimed to be impressed with the buffalo Jeb had carved out of cherrywood, and Jeb had thanked him for the shirts and new jeans. Sarah had given him new towels and Calla’s name was signed to a bottle of aftershave. He doubted the fifteen-year-old had been the one to pick it out.

  Christmas wasn’t his favorite time of year. The gifts he gave had all been handmade. He wasn’t a shopper. Nor did he mail out greeting cards; it was something he’d never done and he sure wasn’t going to start now.

  Jeb glanced at his watch. He’d hung around the house most of the day and he wasn’t fooling himself as to why. Maddy was due later that afternoon. It’d been a week since he learned she was dating Dennis, which probably explained why Jeb hadn’t seen or heard from him in a while. Some friend!

  Although, to be fair, Dennis had no way of knowing how he felt about Maddy. Nor could he blame Maddy. He dared not let himself think about the last time they’d talked. The memory was like a half-healed wound. Still, he wanted to see her again—even though he’d done everything he could to chase her away.

  For reasons he couldn’t understand, it was important to see her, to know she was happy. He told himself she had every right to a relationship with Dennis, if that was what she wanted.

  Maddy should arrive within the hour. He cleared the table, where he’d sat doing woodwork most of the day, trying to imagine the course of their conversation. Should he mention Dennis? Would she? He moved the piece he was working on to a nearby shelf. It was a carving of a woman’s face—a woman who looked like Maddy. It had started off as a bust of Sarah, meant as a gift for Dennis. Then, almost without being aware of it, he’d started to carve Maddy’s face, instead. He carved from memory—and, he knew, from love.

  A car door slammed outside, followed by the sound of a second door. She was early, and she hadn’t come alone. He stood, mentally preparing himself to meet her face-to-face.

  After a perfunctory knock, she came in the door, carrying a small bag of groceries. He hadn’t ordered much. Actually, the few items he’d requested had been more of an excuse to see her.

  “Jeb!” She stopped short, evidently surprised to find him at home.

  “Hello, Maddy.” He nodded in her direction and noticed an older woman following her into the house, holding a carton with toilet paper and a box of cereal peeking out.

  The other woman set all the groceries on the counter and turned toward Maddy. “Mom, this is Jeb McKenna. Jeb, my mother, Cynthia Washburn.”

  “Hello, Jeb.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Washburn.” He saw the smile Cynthia sent her daughter, as if he’d cracked a joke.

  “Maddy tells me you raise buffalo.”

  “That’s right.” He looked at Maddy. “You’re early.”

  She seemed nervous, eager to get away.

  “I decided to come here before heading out to the Clemens ranch,” she explained.

  “Margaret Clemens?” Cynthia asked. “Didn’t I meet her?”

  “Yes…She came by the store on Christmas Eve.” Although Maddy was answering her mother, she continued to stare at Jeb. And he at her. She looked pale, he noted, as if she’d been working too many hours. Her eyes seemed bigger, her face thinner. He remembered holding her face between his hands, remembered the way those eyes had smiled up at him with love and caring. He remembered it every time he picked up his carving and held her face again.

  “Don’t you think?”

  Jeb realized her mother had asked him a question. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Washburn. Would you mind repeating that?”

  “About Margaret Clemens,” Cynthia said in the familiar chatty style of her daughter. “She’s about the saddest young woman I’ve ever met. I want to put my arms around her and hug her.”

  Jeb wasn’t sure what to make of that comment.

  “We’d better go,” Maddy said abruptly.

  Jeb wasn’t ready for that to happen. Not so fast.

  “What’s this?” Cynthia Washburn glanced over at the shelf, where h
e’d placed the carving.

  “Jeb does woodwork,” Maddy answered for him. He heard the impatience in her voice, even if her mother didn’t.

  “This is really lovely,” Cynthia said. “Do you mind?” she asked, raising a hand to pick up the bust.

  “Ah…” Jeb hesitated, fearing she’d notice whose image it was.

  “Mom, we should be going.”

  “In a minute,” her mother murmured.

  Jeb sensed Maddy’s frustration and, irrationally, he was pleased. He wanted her to stay, wanted to learn whatever he could.

  Cynthia carefully lifted the piece. “Jeb,” she said with real appreciation, “you’re very skilled.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Maddy, look,” she said, turning so her daughter could examine the carving.

  Jeb took a step forward, wanting to stop her, certain that Maddy would recognize herself.

  “She resembles you,” Cynthia said, studying Maddy’s face and then the carving. “She really does.”

  “Mother,” Maddy said, more insistently this time. “We really have to leave now.”

  With deliberate movements, Cynthia replaced the piece. But when she raised her eyes to Jeb, they didn’t show delight or admiration as they had earlier. “It’s him, isn’t it?” she asked her daughter.

  “Mom…don’t. Please.”

  Apparently Maddy had told her mother everything—except his name. It wasn’t a comfortable situation for any of them.

  “Just tell me,” Cynthia said.

  “Yes!” Maddy cried. She placed her arm around her mother’s waist and steered her toward the door.

  “Do you know you’ve broken my daughter’s heart?”

  “Mother!” Maddy’s raised voice revealed her embarrassment. Not looking back, she pushed her mother through the door.

  Cynthia twisted around. “You’re a fool,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  Jeb had nothing to say in his defense.

  They’d been gone only a minute or so when Maddy knocked on his back door, then opened it and peered through. “I apologize for my mother, Jeb. It won’t happen again.” She closed the door and left.

  “Maddy,” he shouted, hurrying after her.

  She stopped reluctantly. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do any further damage to your trees.”

  She was talking about slamming her truck into the cottonwood. “I wasn’t going to mention that,” he told her.

  “Then what did you want to say?” she demanded, crossing her arms, sounding desperate to escape.

  Jeb hesitated. “Uh, how are you?”

  “How am I?” she repeated impatiently. “What kind of question is that? If you want to ask me a question, make it a real one.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Yes, yes, very happy. Can I leave now?”

  He nodded and watched her climb into the Bronco and start the engine. Cynthia Washburn glared at him through the window. Maddy seemed intent on getting away as quickly as possible; she didn’t look at him, but as she put the car in Reverse and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes momentarily caught his.

  In that split second, less than the time required for a single breath, Jeb saw the truth. He might have hurt her, but Maddy was over him.

  She had someone else now.

  Dennis Urlacher. The man Jeb had once considered his best friend.

  Twelve

  Lily Quantrill felt like an interfering old lady, but she couldn’t resist, even though Heath would be furious if he found out. Her grandson hadn’t told her what happened the night he’d gone to dinner with Kate Butler, but it must not have been promising. To the best of her knowledge, Heath hadn’t seen the other woman since. In fact, he’d been downright irritable when she’d made the mistake of asking him about Kate.

  With the holidays behind them, Lily had sent Rachel Fischer an invitation for lunch. Heath didn’t know. Up to this point, she’d heard only one side of that particular story, but she was going to get to the bottom of it. So, her playboy grandson needed help in the romance department. She wouldn’t have expected that. He was her greatest blessing—and at the same time, what a numskull!

  Lily had made some enquiries concerning Rachel. Her good friend Hassie Knight had supplied her with information. Hassie was friends with Rachel, friends with everyone in Buffalo Valley, for that matter. Over the past month, they’d had extensive phone conversations regarding Heath and Rachel. Hassie told her she, too, had difficulty getting a read on the situation. But Hassie seemed to believe Rachel was still interested in Heath, as interested as he was in her.

  Then what was the problem?

  The doorbell chimed and the woman who’d brought up their lunch from the kitchen answered the door. The retirement center supplied all meals in a central location, but would, on request, send meals to individual rooms.

  “Your guest has arrived,” the woman announced as though Lily didn’t have ears to hear the doorbell herself.

  “Hello, Rachel,” Lily said, wheeling toward the younger woman. She thanked the staff member and dismissed her, then turned to Rachel. “I’m so pleased you could join me.”

  “I am, too.” Her smile was shy and a bit unnatural. “I have a car now.”

  Lily could see that Rachel was ill-at-ease. “Please sit down.” The table had already been set, their salads waiting, along with a bowl of freshly baked bread and a pot of tea.

  Studying Rachel, Lily could understand why Heath was attracted to her. She was a beautiful woman, with strong facial features. Proud, too, if the tilt of her chin was any gauge.

  “I imagine you’re wondering what prompted my invitation,” Lily said, as she smoothed the linen napkin on her lap. She’d never been one to delay getting to the point.

  “I’ll admit to being curious,” Rachel said, reaching for her own napkin, “but my guess is that Heath’s involved in some way.”

  “You’ve seen him?”

  Rachel hesitated. “Yes…I was in the bank last Wednesday.”

  “Go out with him lately?”

  “No.” Rachel lowered her gaze.

  “Any reason for that?”

  Again the younger woman paused. “I was forced to cancel our last date and he hasn’t asked me out since.”

  Lily snorted softly. It appeared her grandson wasn’t the only one who needed tutoring in the art of romance. Young people these days were all too quick to jump between the sheets. They didn’t take time to get to know each other, to become friends first. Apparently that had been Heath’s mode of operation. Now it seemed he didn’t know what to do when he faced the slightest opposition.

  “How do you feel about my grandson?” Lily demanded, suddenly irritated by the whole affair. What that boy needed was someone to box his ears. She’d gladly volunteer. “I…”

  “You can speak honestly,” Lily told her, hoping Rachel would be comfortable enough to confide in her. “You don’t need to fear offending me. I know my grandson.”

  “Do you?” Rachel asked, her look intent. “I…I think Heath is wonderful.”

  “Wonderful,” Lily repeated, almost choking. A piece of chicken damn near got stuck in her throat.

  “Yes,” Rachel continued. “We got off to a rocky start—”

  “I know all about that,” Lily assured her, and noticed the flush of color in the other woman’s pale cheeks.

  “Yes, well, he’s been nothing but a gentleman ever since. We’ve gone out a number of times and I’ve always enjoyed his company.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  If Rachel was interested in Heath and he was interested in her, Lily couldn’t imagine what was causing all this confusion and conflict. If she’d been handling matters, those two would’ve been married a year ago. She’d hoped to see Heath settled down by now and perhaps a great-grandchild on the way.

  “I care about Heath,” Rachel admitted. Her voice fell. “But I don’t believe I’m the right woman for him.”

  This announcement also took Lil
y by surprise. “Why not?”

  “Because…well, because I have more ambition than to let him support me and my son for the rest of our lives. These last few years haven’t been easy, financially or emotionally or any which way. I’m not looking for a husband to step in and rescue me.”

  “Good for you.” Lily liked that the woman had pluck. She did herself, and she understood ambition. She’d been years ahead of her time and it’d taken the right kind of man to appreciate her vision for the future. Michael had supported her ideas, loved her and worked along with her, but from the first she’d been the driving force behind Buffalo County Banks. Was to this day. She read every report and kept her finger on the pulse of the business. But Lily was tired, and growing more so by the day. An inner sense, one that had guided her all her life, told her that her remaining time in this world was short.

  “I suppose Heath explained that my weekend pizza delivery business has turned into a restaurant,” Rachel was saying.

  “He brought me an order of your lasagna not long ago. Excellent sauce. You’re a fine cook.”

  Rachel blushed with pleasure at the compliment. “Thank you…But starting up a business—banking, a restaurant, any business—demands hours of dedication and hard work. You know that.”

  Lily nodded in full agreement.

  “I can’t take time off to play. Yes, I enjoy Heath’s company, and the few times we’ve gone out have been like a vacation for me, but I can’t close down the restaurant because Heath wants to take me cross-country skiing at his cabin for the weekend.”

  “I see,” Lily murmured, frowning. She was beginning to get a clearer picture of the situation. She set down her fork and pushed the salad plate to one side. These days she didn’t have much of an appetite.

  “Heath needs a woman who can give him lots of attention,” Rachel said.

  “You mean a woman who’s willing to pander to his moods, don’t you?” Lily corrected.

  Rachel’s smile told her she agreed.

  “You said you don’t need a husband to support you?” Lily murmured.

  Rachel nodded. “The last time we talked, Heath suggested that…that if I put as much time and energy into our relationship as I do into my business, I wouldn’t need to worry if the restaurant succeeded or not.”