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The thought hadn’t occurred to Gage. “I doubt it.”
With a morose and uncommunicative Brandon Wyatt sitting next to him, Gage finished off his beer and ordered a second. Again and again, his gaze was drawn across the street.
A couple of times he thought he heard the sound of women’s laughter coming from Hassie’s, but he could have imagined it. His imagination seemed to have shifted into overdrive, and his head was filled with thoughts of Lindsay Snyder. He couldn’t recall the other woman’s name now.
Lindsay’s blue eyes had sparkled with laughter and during those few seconds they’d stared at each other, he could almost feel the joy bubbling just beneath the surface. Within those few seconds he’d recognized that she was someone he’d like to know better. But there was no reason for her to stay; by morning she’d be back on the road.
A deep loneliness came over him. Gage had experienced it before; and life had taught him that, given time, it would pass. Life had taught him something else, too. The land demanded a farmer’s first allegiance and wouldn’t lightly accept his sharing that love and loyalty with another. This was a lesson Brandon was only now beginning to understand, and Gage intended to learn from his neighbor’s mistakes.
Joanie Wyatt sat alone in the darkened room. She hadn’t meant to fight with her husband. The truth was, she’d been hoping for a romantic afternoon—just the two of them. The grandfather clock chimed midnight, the sound as bleak as her thoughts. It was useless to try to sleep. Not that their disagreement seemed to bother Brandon, who’d been asleep for nearly two hours.
She’d asked him to come into town with her. It was a small thing, but they had almost no time alone these days. Sage and Stevie were attending Billy Nobel’s birthday party in Bellmont, which gave them a rare free afternoon. She’d been the one to suggest they buy groceries and then stop at Buffalo Bob’s for a beer.
All either of them did these days was work. Joanie had planted a huge, ambitious garden, and found herself spending hours every day looking after it. What had started as an experiment, a pleasure, had developed over the years into a necessity and now a chore. It made sense to raise as much of their own food as possible, seeing that they had the land. Then there was Princess to milk and chickens to feed and in the past year they’d added pigs. Thankfully Brandon did the butchering, but the care of the animals had become part of her duties.
The animals tied them to the farm, so it was unusual to get away for more than a few hours. In the last four or five years, Joanie had come to feel isolated, to doubt her own sanity and lately her femininity, her attractiveness. It’d been weeks since they’d last made love, weeks since they’d done anything but fall into bed at the end of the day, too exhausted to even kiss. Whatever romance had existed in their marriage now seemed dead.
Their argument that afternoon had started out as an innocent conversation on the drive into town, a mere mention of the washing machine, which was about to give up the ghost.
“We can’t afford a new one,” Brandon had snapped.
Her mistake, Joanie realized, was mentioning the two-hundred-thousand-dollar combine Brandon had purchased two years earlier. They couldn’t afford an eight-hundred-dollar washing machine, but forking over six figures for a combine was done without blinking twice.
That remark had sent their afternoon on a downward spiral. By the time they reached town, she’d walked over to Hansen’s Grocery on her own while Brandon headed for Buffalo Bob’s. He’d had three beers before she joined him.
Despite his sullen demeanor, Joanie had tried to make the best of the situation. Hoping to put the argument behind them, she’d asked Buffalo Bob about the karaoke machine he’d recently purchased. He’d been eager to have someone try it out and so, with everyone watching, Joanie had gotten up to sing an old Beatles song. Her singing voice was halfway decent and she’d earned a hearty round of applause. Soon others, their inhibitions no doubt loosened by several beers, were taking their turns, and Buffalo Bob had thanked her for getting things rolling.
Then, on the drive home, Brandon had accused her of flirting.
“With whom?” she’d cried.
He’d been silent for a long moment before he said, “Buffalo Bob.”
The idea was ludicrous and she didn’t know whether to laugh or act insulted. Instead of doing either, she said nothing. When they got home, Brandon had stormed off to the barn and she’d left almost immediately to pick up the kids.
Her appetite was dismal and the kids were filled up on excitement and birthday cake, so she’d just made a chef’s salad for dinner. Brandon had taken one look at it and claimed he wasn’t hungry. Joanie had sat at the dinner table alone with her children.
“Is Daddy mad?” Sage asked. Her daughter had always been sensitive to her parents’ moods.
“Of course not, sweetheart,” she’d assured her, wanting to lay the eight-year-old’s fears to rest.
“How come he isn’t eating dinner with us?”
“Well, because …” Joanie groped for a believable excuse. “Because we went into town while you were at the birthday party and had a little party of our own.”
The excuse satisfied their son, who’d shown only minor concern over Brandon’s absence from the dinner table, but Sage didn’t look convinced. “Maybe I should make Daddy a sandwich and take it out to him.”
“If he wants something to eat, he’ll say so,” Joanie insisted. She wasn’t going to pander to Brandon’s moods, and she wasn’t about to let their daughter fall into that trap, either. Joanie felt she’d put together a perfectly good salad, and if he wanted something else, he could damn well cook it himself.
After dinner, the kids watched a favorite Disney video. By nine they were ready for bed, tired out from the day’s activity. Joanie tucked them in, listened to their prayers and came back downstairs.
Brandon sat in front of the television. His gaze didn’t waver from the screen when she entered the room. The show was a rerun of Walker, Texas Ranger and she didn’t want to waste her evening sitting with an embittered husband watching a show she’d already seen.
Without a word she’d set up her sewing machine on the kitchen table, intent on making her daughter a new dress for church. It was a hundred-mile round trip to the closest church. A priest came to Buffalo once every two weeks to say Mass, but Joanie wasn’t Catholic. Brandon had stopped attending services with her three years earlier, so she made the long drive alone with the kids. Her husband had given up doing a lot of the things she considered important, another sign of the growing discontent in their marriage.
As she worked, Joanie had brooded, alternating between resentment and despair. She deftly ran the flowery fabric beneath the frantic needle, but the task didn’t calm her, the way it usually did. This sewing machine had once belonged to her mother. Joanie had inherited it when her mother purchased a newer model, but God help her if she were to hint at buying a new sewing machine. Look what had happened when she’d asked about a washer.
At ten, Brandon had wandered into the kitchen, glanced around, said nothing, then gone up to bed. It didn’t take Joanie long to follow. She waited until the room was dark before she climbed beneath the sheets.
Brandon lay next to her, as cold and silent as a corpse.
“I’m sorry about this afternoon,” she whispered, staring up at the ceiling.
He didn’t say anything for long minutes, then finally, “Me, too.”
“What’s happening to us?” she asked, her heart breaking. At one time they’d been so much in love. Neither of them would have allowed anything—a disagreement, a misunderstanding—to come between them. But these days they almost seemed to invent excuses to argue.
Their courtship had been wildly romantic, but even then her mother had seen problems looming. When Joanie announced that she wanted to marry Brandon, her parents had advised against it. As a result, Brandon had never gotten on well with her family. Her parents didn’t dislike him, but he chose to believe otherwise. If she wanted to spend holidays with her mother and father, she and the children went alone.
“I guess your parents were right,” he mumbled in the dark.
“What do you mean by that?” she demanded, angered by the comment. She wanted to end this tension, not heighten it. Brandon couldn’t seem to let their disagreement drop, and it annoyed her.
“You’d have done better marrying Stan Simmons, like your mother wanted. He could buy you ten washing machines if you asked. Hell, he’d take them off the showroom floor and not miss a single one.”
“I wasn’t in love with him. As it happens, I fell in love with you. As for those washing machines, I don’t need ten. Five will do.” She expected Brandon would chuckle, roll over and hug her, but he didn’t. “That was a joke,” she said.
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you laugh?”
Brandon sighed. “The answer should be obvious.”
“Apparently not.”
“Okay, if I have to say it, I will. I didn’t happen to find your little joke all that amusing.”
Joanie swallowed a groan, wondering why she even tried. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah—and not only that, I drive a two-hundred-thousand-dollar combine.” He abruptly rolled onto his side and jerked the covers over his shoulder.
Joanie waited until she was sure he’d fallen asleep before she slipped out of the bedroom and walked into the living room. For two hours she sat alone in the dark and listened to the chime of the grandfather clock every fifteen minutes. Eleven. Quarter after eleven. Eleven-thirty. This was her life, she told herself. Her life that was disappearing.
Joanie had gone into this marriage because she loved Brandon. It had seemed so right, despite her parents’ concerns. Brandon was responsible and hardworking, kind, gentle …
They’d met, of all places, at a theater. She’d gone with a girlfriend who’d deserted her when she’d run into her latest heartthrob. Joanie had been about to leave when she saw Brandon and liked what she saw. So she’d purchased a ticket, anyway, and hoped against hope that he was attending the same movie.
He was, and they’d sat not far from each other. Only later did he confess that he’d purchased the ticket for a different movie, but had followed her, hoping for the opportunity to get to know her. Joanie had gone from feeling flattered to infatuated all in one evening.
After the movie, they’d had coffee together and talked for hours. They saw each other again the next weekend, and by then she’d broken up with Stan Simmons, much to her parents’ disappointment. Stan’s father owned a huge appliance store that did a lot of advertising; Stan-the-Man’s television ads were often humorous, and he’d become a local celebrity. Stan Jr. was in line to take over the family business. Marrying him would have guaranteed her a life free of financial worries. Instead, Joanie had followed her heart. Not once had she regretted that decision.
She still didn’t regret it—unhappy though she was right now. Despite their problems, Joanie deeply loved her husband. What she had to do was find a way to recapture what they’d lost. She couldn’t do it all on her own, though; Brandon had to want it, too.
“Joanie?” Her husband stood silhouetted in the dim moonlight. “What are you doing up?”
“I … I couldn’t sleep.”
“Because of what I said?”
She nodded.
“Let’s not fight, baby.”
“I don’t want to, either,” she whispered.
He held his arms open to her and she went to him, savoring the feel of his embrace. “I woke up and found you gone,” he murmured against her hair. Then with a deep, shuddering sigh, he told her, “We’ll find a way to buy you that new washer. The corn’s good this year. Come harvest, we’ll buy you a washer—and a dryer, too. I promise.”
“It’s all right. I can make do for a while. Joshua can keep the washer going for me. And the dryer should last until next year.”
Her husband kissed the top of her head and his lips lingered there, giving Joanie the impression that he was either immersed in thought or still half-asleep. “Come to bed,” he urged a moment later. He slid his arm around her waist and led her back to their bedroom. She moved into his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder. He didn’t reach for her to make love, and she didn’t indicate that she was interested. The physical aspect of their marriage had always been strong—except for the past few months. When all else failed, this was an area where communication had remained healthy. But it’d been a month since the last time he’d wanted her … and a month, more than a month, since she’d wanted him.
It wasn’t a good sign and Joanie drifted into an uneasy sleep, worried that her marriage was in more serious trouble than she’d suspected.
Refreshed and rejuvenated from her two-week vacation, Lindsay hadn’t been home an hour—hadn’t even picked up the dogs from her parents yet—when Monte showed up at her apartment door, holding a huge bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. The flowers were beautiful; even more beautiful was the look on Monte’s face. Without a word it told her how much he’d missed her, how bereft he’d felt while she was away. That look alone was worth every miserable moment they’d been apart. It was a mistake to be this happy, to feel such undiluted joy, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Welcome home,” he said at last.
“Oh, Monte.” She covered her mouth with one hand, hardly able to believe he’d come.
Before another moment passed, she was in his arms. “I’ve been lost without you,” he whispered between kisses. “Never again,” he insisted, clasping her by the shoulders and gazing intensely into her eyes.
The roses were clutched in Lindsay’s arms, the thorns biting into her skin, but she barely felt the pain. “Who told you I was home?” she asked breathlessly, once they broke apart.
“No one. I overheard your uncle say you’d be back sometime today.”
Not knowing how to react, Lindsay stared down at the flowers. She loved him, she’d missed him—but she wasn’t ready for a confrontation. Especially now, with her heart so hungry for the sight of him. Again and again she tried to remind herself that they’d covered this ground before. Nothing was going to change. And as she acknowledged this, her joy at seeing him began to dissolve.
“I know you said you wanted to break things off, but I’m hoping you’ve come to your senses. Tell me you have,” he pleaded. When she didn’t immediately respond, Monte answered for her. “Your kisses say you’ve been missing me,” he whispered.
“I did miss you.” She couldn’t lie, but the truth was more than she wanted to confess. In an effort to diminish the growing intimacy, she carried the roses into the kitchen.
“I’ve done nothing but think about you,” Monte told her.
Lindsay brought out the stepladder to reach for the vase stored above the refrigerator. She’d done a lot of thinking, too. But during her trip, on the road with Maddy, everything had seemed much clearer than it did now.
Monte leaned against the counter, gazing steadily at her. “You’ve had two weeks. Surely you realize we belong together.”
Lindsay set down the vase. It seemed ridiculous that they should be having the most important—and perhaps the final—discussion of their relationship while standing in the middle of her tiny kitchen. There was so much she’d wanted to tell him, about her trip and her visit to Buffalo Valley. She yearned to share the things she’d learned, the places she’d seen—the Badlands, Yellowstone Park, Mount Rushmore. He was her friend, too, and that aspect of their relationship was as difficult to relinquish as the rest.
“You’ve come to your senses, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose I have.” She sounded so … weak, so unsure. She was weak, but her resolve was growing stronger. She refused to let him talk her out of the very things that were most important to her.
Monte sighed. “Thank heaven for that.”
It took him a moment to realize she was still standing on the other side of the room. “Come here, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”
“I don’t think you understand.” Her voice was emotionless.
“You said you’d come to your senses.”
“I have—and it’s over, Monte. Unless you’ve changed your mind about marriage and a family. And I don’t think you have.”
He stared at her as if he didn’t believe her. “You don’t mean that,” he said, shaking his head impatiently.
“I do mean it.”
“I’ve heard that before, Lindsay, and it’s foolishness. We belong together, we always have. You know it, and I do, too. We’re good together.”
“That’s true, Monte, but I want more. I want a husband and children. Is that so difficult to understand?”
His mouth thinned. “For the love of God, does it always have to go back to what you want?”
“In this case, yes. It’s my life.”
He pounded his fist against the counter, then seemed to regret the outburst. “Lindsay, would you listen to reason? I can’t marry you. I just can’t do it. Marriage ruins everything—I know that from experience. You—”
“Don’t, please.”
He advanced toward her, then stopped. “Fine,” he said, his voice cold, “if that’s the way you want it.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“You’ll be back,” he said. “Until then, all I can do is wait.” He slammed the door on his way out of her apartment.
Afterward Lindsay sat, mulling over their conversation, her arms wrapped around her knees. A chill spread down her arms that had nothing to do with the air-conditioned room. His bitter words about marriage echoed in her ears; so did his claim that she’d change her mind, that she’d come back. He seemed to think she’d eventually be willing to accept him on his terms, willing to give up her own dreams.
Lindsay bit into her lower lip, and hugged her legs all the harder.
It did no good to relive the same old arguments. The furniture in her uncle’s showroom might come with a guarantee, but life didn’t. Neither did marriage. But Monte’s divorce had destroyed any possibility of his taking a second chance on commitment. Nothing she could say or do would be enough to reassure him.
For two years, Lindsay had believed that Monte would see the light and realize that she wasn’t his ex-wife. Because she was stubborn, and because she loved him, she’d refused to accept defeat. His marriage, brief as it was, had forever marked him. Monte was incapable of giving her anything more than he already had.
Maddy had said it on their vacation. Either she take what he was offering or end the relationship.
Lindsay had made her decision. One thing was certain; she had to stay away from him. Her love for him made her too vulnerable. He would fight to preserve their relationship, and he’d work at wearing her down, the same way he had before.
Leaning back, she closed her eyes and reviewed her options. A new career, returning to college, starting her own business … Unexpectedly she remembered her visit to Buffalo Valley—and her conversation with Hassie Knight. She smiled. Hassie hadn’t come right out and said it, but without a teacher Buffalo Valley was doomed. That was the answer Lindsay sought. She would take the job; obviously, the town needed her … and perhaps she needed it.
