Always Dakota

“You’re living there, if I remember correctly.”

“I am, and you do.”

She appeared to relax with that. “How nice. We’re having dinner at your home. I always did love that house.” She paused. “Haven’t been there since I got stuck in this blasted chair.”

“I love the house, too.” It was the reason he’d moved into it when he returned from Europe. His brother’s death had hit him hard and he felt the need to surround himself with what was familiar. The house had been in their family for thirty years. Even now, when it involved a long commute into Buffalo Valley three days a week, he’d chosen to live in the family home.

He pulled into the driveway and paused, watching Lily. She stared at the house and her sharp features softened.

Transferring her from car to wheelchair went smoothly. Earlier he’d rigged a platform to get her up the stairs.

When they reached the porch, the front door opened, and Rachel’s son, Mark, stood waiting. The scents of turkey and sage dressing and pumpkin pie were instantly recognizable. Rachel was one fine cook, and dinner promised to be everything he remembered from his childhood.

“Who are you?” Lily demanded of the boy.

Heath admired Mark for not flinching in the face of his grandmother’s brusque manner.

“Mark Fischer,” Mark returned politely.

“My son,” Rachel said, coming to stand behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

Lily turned to look at Heath. “What’s going on here?” she asked, but the question was hopeful, quite unlike her previous demands.