Always Dakota

“I love him,” she stated simply.

“But I want you to promise me you’ll be careful about starting any kind of relationship with him.”

So Maddy was afraid Matt would take advantage of her. Margaret understood why her friend might react that way, but deep down, Margaret knew otherwise. She’d seen his surprised look after he’d kissed her. He hadn’t come to seduce her; she would have bet the ranch on that. Nor was she as naive as others, including Matt, assumed. Inexperienced, yes. Naive, no.

They sat and visited for another thirty minutes before the baby cried and Margaret decided it was time to go. Maddy collected the still-sleepy infant and walked Margaret to the door, promising to call in a few days.

As she drove back to the Triple C, Margaret remembered something her father had often told her. If you have a question or a doubt, go straight to the source. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of that earlier. If she had any questions about Matt’s kiss or his motives, all she needed to do was ask him.

With renewed purpose, she drove past her own ranch and headed toward his, pulling into the large yard. The Stockerts had been neighbors and friends of her father’s for years, but had moved when beef prices plummeted dramatically. The house had sat vacant until Matt arrived, leasing the property from the retired couple. He’d started out small, which was smart, building his herd each year. The house needed plenty of repairs and a coat of paint. But why should he paint a house that wasn’t his? Matt put everything he earned back into his herd.

Margaret parked the truck, then got out and glanced around. It appeared that Matt wasn’t there. She was about to leave when she saw him walk out of the barn. Once again she was struck by his stunning good looks—stunning at least to her.

Suddenly Margaret felt insecure and self-conscious, and she experienced those emotions as a physical sensation. She didn’t like the uncomfortable feeling that settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Margaret.” He touched the brim of his hat in welcome.

“Matt.” She touched her own.

They stood three feet apart with the cold drifting in around them. She supposed other people would gradually lead into the purpose of a visit, but she was beyond pretense.

“Why did you kiss me?” she asked, surprised by how cool and even her voice remained. The question had plagued her for days, had practically consumed her, yet she’d made it sound as if she was asking about the price of feed.

His eyes met and held hers. Then, looking discomfited, he shrugged. “I can’t rightly say.”

“You plan on doing it again?”

His gaze shifted away from hers. “What makes you ask?”

Wait a minute. She was the one asking the questions here. “Don’t answer my question with one of your own. That’s unfair.”

“There are rules to this conversation?”

“You just did it again,” she cried, exasperated.

At that, Matt burst out laughing.

Despite the seriousness of her concerns, Margaret laughed, too.

“You’re fortunate you caught me. I was out on the range earlier, looking for stray cattle.”

“We’ve had a lot of rain lately.” They both knew what that meant. The wet weather could bring about symptoms of bloat in the calves; they required careful watching.

As it happened, Matt had brought a sick calf into the barn and before long, Margaret was down on her knees, checking him over.

“What do you think?” he asked.

If Margaret knew anything, it was cattle. “I’d get the vet out here if you hope to save him.”

Matt nodded gravely. “I already put in a call to Doc Lenz in Devils Lake, but he said there’s not much he could do that I haven’t already done.”

Talking softly to the sick calf, Margaret stroked his sleek neck. Hardened rancher or not, she hated to see anything suffer. She comforted the calf as it lay dying, tears springing to her eyes. She continued to stroke the calf’s face long after it was gone. When she realized Matt was watching her, she got abruptly to her feet and glanced at her watch. “I’d better go home.”

He stood, too. “I’ll walk you out.”

They strolled silently back to her truck, and she wondered if he was as reluctant to let her go as she was to leave. “You never did answer my question,” she reminded him.

He grinned and shook his head. “You’re right, I didn’t.”

“It isn’t the proper thing for a woman to ask, is it?”

He buried his hands deep in his coat pockets. “I don’t see why not. If you’d kissed me, I’d want to know why.”

Really. Then perhaps she should do exactly that. Catching him by surprise, she reached for his collar, gripping it with both hands. Then, raising herself on her toes, she slanted her mouth over his, hungry to discover if a second kiss could possibly compare with the first.

Quick as anything, Matt’s arms were around her waist, pulling her against him. He did it with such force that it drove the breath from her lungs. For one wild second, her eyes flew open. Matt quickly took charge of the kiss, seducing her with his lips, introducing her to his tongue and creating an ache in her that reached low into her belly. This was the kind of kiss that would make a woman want to lock the door.

When he released her, it was all Margaret could do to breathe again.

“I shocked you, didn’t I?” he said, brushing the hair from her face.

Still breathless, she couldn’t answer him.

“I figure you haven’t had much experience at this.”

His comment irritated her. He seemed to be saying her lack of sexual finesse was obvious.

“I … I should leave now,” she murmured, doing her best to sound mature and unaffected, even though her knees were shaking.

“Feel free to stop by any time,” he said, opening the truck door.

“By the same token,” she said, climbing inside, “feel free to shock me any time.”

He was still laughing when he closed the door and she started the engine and drove off. He was laughing and Margaret was smiling. This could be the start of something good, a voice inside her seemed to whisper.

The frantic hum of sewing machines filled the workshop at Sarah Urlacher’s quilt company. Three machines were in use nearly eight hours every day. Two girls cut pattern pieces while Sarah was busy with the phones. Orders continued to arrive and she was having trouble keeping up. Many nights she stayed late, dying the muslin, soaking the cloth in tea water and other natural concoctions made with lichen and berries and plants. She put in long hours, but she loved it with an intensity that was hard to explain. Quilting was her passion, and her love for it went into every quilt she sold.

No one was more amazed by the almost overnight success of her business than Sarah herself. It’d started out mainly as a hobby, something to occupy her time and employ her talents. Then she’d won first prize at the state fair and sold the quilt for an astonishing five hundred dollars. Soon other sales trickled in. Enough that she’d eventually realized she needed to expand, to move her business out of her father’s house. That was when she created Buffalo Valley Quilts.

Although it was a risk, a leap of faith, she’d rented space in one of the abandoned stores on Buffalo Valley’s main street. Having her own location with her business name painted on the window had brought her immense satisfaction—and pride. For the first time, she was doing something for herself. The success or failure of this venture rested squarely on her own shoulders. Everything else in her life had been controlled by circumstances, but this company was of her own making. And so was its success.

To be fair, she credited Lindsay Sinclair with those initial sales. Two years earlier, Lindsay had moved to Buffalo Valley and accepted a teaching job. With her, Lindsay had brought hope and vision to the community.

When Sarah started her company, Lindsay had contacted her uncle in Savannah about displaying the distinctive quilts in his upscale furniture store. The first had sold immediately, and everything since had been eagerly snapped up. Soon other retail outlets had approached her.

Already she had a handful of full-time employees and she could use more. But luring women into town to work for her was complicated. Farm wives were often needed at home, and with no day care available in town. A temporary solution was to hire them to do piecework out of their homes, but Sarah didn’t feel that gave her the same quality control.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the jangling of the bell above the door. Hassie Knight walked in. The pharmacist visited often, usually without a specific reason; Sarah guessed she just liked seeing all the activity.