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“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.

L
ily 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 Lily 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.”

“He said that?” Lily felt she'd failed her grandson completely. Had he learned nothing from her? “Someone needs to teach that boy a lesson.” She shook her head despairingly.

“I do believe I have,” Rachel told her, “only I can see now that the lesson backfired. I've seen Heath around town a few times. He's cordial, but that's about all. I think he's letting me know that he isn't interested in me any longer. I'm disappointed, but frankly, perhaps that's for the best.”

“Hogwash!” It was clear that her grandson needed more help than she'd realized. Rachel was a strong woman, and Heath, God help him, was as obstinate as they came. What surprised her was that, in this case, he'd given up so easily.

She wheeled her chair over to the telephone. “How long are you in town?” she asked.

Rachel frowned. “I hired a prep cook last week, so I don't have to be back in Buffalo Valley until six.”

“Good.” She reached for the phone and pushed the automatic dial for the Grand Forks branch of Buffalo County Bank, where Heath worked on Tuesday afternoons. When she asked for him, the call was immediately directed to his office.

“Heath Quantrill,” her grandson said in a brisk, businesslike tone.

“I have something important I need to talk over with you,” Lily barked.

“Hello, Grandma.”

“How soon can you get here?”

“Ah…you don't mean now, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she snapped.

His hesitation didn't please her. “I'll expect you in fifteen minutes,” she insisted.

“Grandma, I realize I'm at your beck and call, but—”

“Don't keep me waiting.” With that, she replaced the receiver. Heath's loud protests could be heard as she lowered it.

Rachel seemed shocked. Apparently she'd never heard anyone talk to Heath in that manner.

“He'll be here soon,” Lily said, rolling her chair back to the table. “Would you care for some tea while we wait?”

Rachel nodded. “Please.” Lily poured and they settled into a pleasant conversation about the changes in Buffalo Valley.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Lily's doorbell rang. Before she had a chance to respond, Heath flew into the room.

“I hope to hell this is important.” He stopped midway inside and froze when he saw Rachel.

“Heath?” A soft, feminine voice followed him.

Rachel's embarrassed gaze met Lily's.

“Who are you?” Lily demanded of the attractive young woman.

“Grandma, this is Kate Butler,” Heath answered for her, apparently recovering his composure. He placed his arm affectionately around Kate's shoulders, as if to protect her from Lily's disapproval.

“I'm so pleased to meet you, Ms. Quantrill,” Kate said in the same brisk, businesslike tone her grandson had used earlier.

“And this is Rachel Fischer,” he continued. “Rachel's…a family friend.”

 

Buffalo Bob's sore throat had grown steadily worse all week. It bothered him enough that he closed the restaurant and went to visit Hassie. Hassie Knight dispensed wisdom along with medical advice, although Bob suspected she couldn't cure what really ailed him—heartache and misery.

Frowning, Hassie pressed her hand to his forehead. “You don't feel feverish.”

“I feel like a pile of dog sh—”

“I get the picture,” Hassie said, her stern expression warning him that she wouldn't tolerate the use of four-letter words.

“Any other symptoms?”

“Like what? Isn't a sore throat bad enough?”

Hassie stuck a disposable thermometer in his mouth. “Now, listen here, Bob Carr—yes, I remember your name before you became the mighty Buffalo Bob—I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but whatever it is, shake it off.”

Hassie marched down the center aisle, paused in front of the cold medications, then glanced over her shoulder. “You've been in a sour mood for weeks now.”

He pulled out the thermometer. “There's nothing wrong with my mood!”

“Keep that thermometer in your mouth!” she ordered. “You once boasted that you knew by a man's look when he was having woman problems. Well, you aren't the only one who can recognize that look.”

He mumbled something sarcastic, but he knew his words weren't discernible. Just as well.

“You don't think I know Merrily's left town?” she said, and took a box off the shelf, turned it over and read the back. “Don't worry,” Hassie added confidently. “She'll be back.”

“Not this time,” he said, attempting to speak around the thermometer. In the weeks since Merrily had left, Bob had reviewed their last conversation countless times. Given another chance, he would have kept his mouth shut. Now it was too late.

He knew his Buffalo Gal well enough to realize he'd gone too far, said too much. She wouldn't be back; Bob had ruined any hope of that. Merrily wouldn't ever return unless she felt certain she was wanted.

Hassie removed the thermometer from between his lips and examined it closely. “Ninety-eight point six.”

“I don't care what the damned thing says! I'm sick.”

Hassie slapped the cold medication into his hand. “Take two of these every four hours and call me if you don't feel better by the end of the week.”

“I don't need a doctor?” he asked, surprised she didn't immediately insist he set up an appointment in Grand Forks.

“You can see a physician if you want, but my guess is he'll tell you to stay off your feet, drink lots of fluids and call if any other symptoms develop.”

“And charge me fifty bucks.”

“Hey, my advice comes free with purchase,” Hassie told him, moving toward the cash register. “I don't suppose I could interest you in a chocolate soda?”

Bob declined. Chocolate wasn't his indulgence of choice. “All right, I'll close 3 OF A KIND for a couple days and take my medicine,” he muttered without enthusiasm. Lately he'd considered selling off the whole operation. The desire to hit the road again came and went, but he'd found himself thinking about it more and more.