Czytaj książkę: «Always Dakota»
Make time for friends. Make time for
Debbie Macomber
CEDAR COVE
16 Lighthouse Road
204 Rosewood Lane
311 Pelican Court
44 Cranberry Point
50 Harbor Street
6 Rainier Drive
74 Seaside Avenue
8 Sandpiper Way
92 Pacific Boulevard
1022 Evergreen Place
1105 Yakima Street
A Merry Little Christmas
(featuring 1225 Christmas Tree Lane and 5-B Poppy Lane)
BLOSSOM STREET
The Shop on Blossom Street
A Good Yarn
Susannah’s Garden
(previously published as Old Boyfriends)
Back on Blossom Street
(previously published as Wednesdays at Four)
Twenty Wishes
Summer on Blossom Street
Hannah’s List
A Turn in the Road
Thursdays at Eight
Christmas in Seattle
Falling for Christmas
Angels at Christmas
A Mother’s Gift
A Mother’s Wish
Happy Mother’s Day
Be My Valentine
THE MANNINGS
The Manning Sisters
The Manning Brides
The Manning Grooms
Summer in Orchard Valley
THE DAKOTAS
Dakota Born
Dakota Home
Always Dakota
Dear Reader,
Here at last is Always Dakota, the third book in my Dakota trilogy. I wrote this series of books in honour of my parents, who were born and raised in the Dakotas, and I’m thrilled these stories still have meaning for you. Buffalo Valley is a prairie town that’s been given a new chance at life; it’s now a place of hope and optimism and energy.
I feel I should warn you about something, though. Margaret Clemens isn’t your everyday kind of heroine—and Matt Eilers is unlike any other hero I’ve written. Life becomes very complicated for this young man—but I’m getting ahead of myself. Besides, you’ll find out all about Matt and Margaret soon enough.
I need to thank a number of people for their help as I worked on this series. One is my cousin Shirley Adler, who braved a Dakota winter so I could do the necessary research.
(I probably shouldn’t mention that it was one of the mildest winters on record!) Cousins Gary and Letty Zimmerman and Paula and Mike Greff, North Dakota natives all, offered invaluable assistance, as did authors and good friends Sandy Huseby and Judy Baer. What would a writer do without family and friends?
OK, my dear reader, settle down in a comfortable chair and get ready to visit Buffalo Valley again. I’m sure you’re going to enjoy your visit!
PS I love hearing from readers. You can reach me at www.debbiemacomber.com or write me at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.
Always Dakota
Debbie Macomber
To my
Aunt Betty Stierwalt
and
Aunt Gerty Urlacher
For gracing my life with their incredible gift for love and laughter
I love you both
Prologue
September
Bernard Clemens was dying and he knew it, despite what the doctors—all those fancy specialists—had said about his heart. He knew. He was old and tired, ready for death.
Sitting in the den of the home he’d built thirty years ago for his wife, he closed his eyes and remembered. Maggie had been his great love. His only love. Delicate and beautiful, nearly sixteen years younger, she could have had her choice of husbands, but she’d chosen him. An aging rancher with a craggy face and work-roughened hands. A man who had simple tastes and lacked social refinement. And yet she’d loved him.
God help him, he’d loved her, loved her still, although she’d been gone now for nearly twenty-seven years.
Her love had been gift enough, but she’d yearned to give him a son. Bernard, too, had hoped for an heir. He’d purchased the Triple C as a young man, buying the land adjacent to his parents’ property, and eventually he’d built the combined ranches into one huge spread, an empire to pass on to his son. However, the child had been a girl and they’d named her Margaret, after her mother.
The pregnancy had drained Maggie and she was further weakened that winter by a particularly bad strain of the flu. Pneumonia had set in soon afterward, and before anyone realized how serious it was, his Maggie was gone.
In all his life, Bernard had never known such grief. With Maggie’s death, he’d lost what he valued most—the woman who’d brought him joy. When they lowered her casket into the ground, they might as well have buried him, too. From that point forward, he threw himself into ranching, buying more land, increasing his herd and consequently turning the Triple C into one of the largest and most prosperous cattle ranches in all of North Dakota.
As for being a father to young Margaret, he’d tried, but as the eldest of seven boys, he had no experience in dealing with little girls. In the years that followed, his six younger brothers had all lived and worked with him for brief periods of time, eventually moving on and getting married and starting families of their own.
They’d helped him raise her, teaching her about ranching ways—riding and roping … and cussing, he was sorry to admit.
To this day, Margaret loved her uncles. Loved riding horses, too. She was a fine horsewoman, and more knowledgeable about cattle than any man he knew. She’d grown tall and smart—not to mention smart-mouthed —but Bernard feared he’d done his only child a grave disservice. Margaret resembled him more than she did her mother. Maggie had been a fragile, dainty woman who brought out everything that was good in Bernard.
Their daughter, unfortunately, revealed very little of her mother’s gentleness or charm. How could she, seeing that she’d been raised by a grief-stricken father and six bachelors? Margaret looked like Bernard, talked like him and dressed like him. It was a crying shame she hadn’t been a boy, since, until recently, she was often mistaken for one. His own doing, he thought, shaking his head. Had Maggie lived, she would have seen to the proper upbringing of their daughter. Would have taught their little girl social graces and femininity, as mothers do. Bernard had given it his best shot. He loved his daughter, but he felt that he’d failed her.
To her credit, Margaret possessed a generous, loving heart and she was a fine businesswoman. Bernard couldn’t help being proud of her, despite a constant sense of guilt about her unconventional upbringing.
There was a light knock. At his hoarse, “Come in,” the housekeeper opened the door. “Matt Eilers is here to see you,” Sadie announced brusquely.
With effort, Bernard straightened, his fingers digging into the padded leather arms of his chair as he forced himself to meet his neighbor. “Send him in.”
She nodded and left.
Less than a minute later, Matt Eilers appeared, Stetson in hand.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up,” Bernard said.
“Of course.”
Bernard gestured toward the matching chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Sit down.”
Matt obliged, giving Bernard his first good look at this man his daughter apparently loved. Frankly, he was disappointed. He’d seen Matt at social affairs, the occasional wedding, harvest dance or barbecue, but they’d never spoken. Somehow, he’d expected more substance, and he felt surprised that Margaret would be taken in by a pretty face and an empty heart. Over the past few years Bernard had heard plenty about his neighbor to the west, and not much of it had been flattering.
“I imagine you’re wondering why I asked to meet with you.”
“I am,” Matt said, perching on the edge of the chair. He held his hat in both hands, his expression questioning.
“You enjoy ranching?”
“Yes, sir.”
At least he was polite, and that boded well. “How long you been ranching the Stockert place?”
“Four years. I’d like to buy my own spread one day, but for now I’m leasing the land and building up my herd.”
“So I understand.” Bernard leaned back in his chair. His breath came slowly, painfully. “You have family in the area?”
Matt’s gaze shifted to the Oriental rug. “No. My parents divorced when I was five. My father ranched in Montana and I worked summers with him, but he died when I was fifteen.”
“Ranching’s in your blood then, same as mine.”
“It is,” Matt agreed.
Bernard hesitated, waiting until he had breath enough to continue. “You know my daughter, Margaret.”
Matt nodded.
“What do you think of her?”
The question seemed to take him by surprise. “Think of her? How do you mean?”
Bernard waved his hand. “Your general impression.”
Slumping back in the chair, Matt shrugged. “I … I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Just be honest,” he snapped, impatient. He didn’t have the strength—or the time—for word games.
“Well.” Matt paused. “Margaret’s Margaret. She’s … unique.”
That was true enough. As far as Bernard knew, she’d only worn a dress twice in her entire life. He’d tried to get her into one when she was ten and the attempt had damn near killed him. “Did you know she’s in love with you?”
“Margaret?” Matt sprang to his feet. “I swear I haven’t touched her! I swear it.” The color fled from his face and he shook his head as though to emphasize his words.
“I believe you …. Sit down.”
Matt did as asked, but his demeanor had changed dramatically. His posture was stiff, his face tight with apprehension and uncertainty.
“She’s gotten it in her head that she’s going to marry you.”
Matt had the look of a caged animal. “I … I’m not sure what to say.”
“You don’t know my daughter, otherwise you’d realize that when she sets her mind to something, there isn’t much that’ll stand in her way.”
“I … I.”
Bernard cut him off. He was growing weak and there was still a lot to be said. “In a few months, Margaret’s going to be a very wealthy woman.”
Matt stared at him.
“I’m dying. I don’t have much time left.” His gaze burned into Eilers. Then he closed his eyes, gathering strength. “God knows what she sees in you, but it’s too late to worry about her judgment now. I raised her the best I could, and if she loves you, there must be more to you than meets the eye.”
Matt stood and started pacing. “What makes you think I’d marry Margaret?” he asked.
Despite the difficulty he had in breathing, Bernard laughed. “Because you’d be a fool not to, and we both know it. She’s going to inherit this ranch. I own more land and cattle than you’ll see in ten lifetimes. She’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”
It was clear from Eilers’s expression that he was shocked.
“I called you here today to tell you something you need to hear.”
Matt clutched his Stetson so tightly, his knuckles whitened. “What’s that?”
Bernard leaned forward. “You hurt my girl and I swear I’ll find a way to make you pay, even if I have to come back from the grave to do it.”
Eilers swallowed hard. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Mr. Clemens. I have no intention of marrying Margaret.”
Bernard chuckled, knowing otherwise. Eilers would marry Margaret, all right, but it wouldn’t be for love. He’d marry her for the land and the cattle. No man with ranching in his blood would be able to refuse what she had to offer.
Yes, Matt would marry her, but it was up to Margaret to earn Matt Eilers’s affection.
One
October
Margaret thought she was ready, as ready as any daughter could be to face her father’s death. She’d been at his side, his rough, callused hand between her own, when it happened. For hours she’d sat with him, watching the intermittent rise and fall of his chest, waiting, wondering if this breath would be his last, praying it wasn’t. Clinging to what little life was left in him.
Bernard Clemens had refused to die in a hospital and at his request, she’d brought him home. The hospice people had been wonderful, assisting Bernard in maintaining his dignity to the very end. Margaret had stayed with her father almost constantly the final week of his life.
She watched him draw his last shallow breath, watched him pass peacefully, silently, from one life to the next. Margaret wasn’t sure what she’d expected to feel, but certainly not this torrent of agony and grief. She’d known he was dying, known it for months, and she’d thought that knowledge would blunt the sharp rawness of her pain. It hadn’t. Her father was gone. She’d spent every day of her life with him, here on the Triple C, and now she was alone. In time, she realized, she’d be able to look back and see the blessing her father had been, but not yet. Not when her loss hurt as much as it did now.
She’d waited until she’d composed herself and then, dry-eyed, walked out of the large bedroom and awakened the sleeping family members, who’d gathered at the ranch. She’d announced that Bernard had died and his death had been peaceful. No tears were shed. That wasn’t how grief was expressed in the Clemens family.
Almost immediately, everyone had found a purpose and the house was filled with activity. More and more people arrived, and then, two days later, it was time for the funeral. Bernard Clemens’s three surviving brothers stood at the grave site with Margaret; they stayed long enough to greet folks and thank them for coming. Then they left, to return to their own families, their own lives.
The reception following the funeral was well attended. Nearly everyone in Buffalo Valley came to pay their respects. Hassie Knight, who owned Knight’s Pharmacy, took charge of organizing the event. She’d been a family friend for many years. At least a hundred people had gathered at the large ranch house, and there was more food than Margaret could eat in six weeks. She never had understood why people brought casseroles and desserts for a wake; the last thing she wanted to think about was eating.
“Margaret, I’m so sorry,” Sarah Urlacher told her, gently taking her hand and holding it. She was sincere, and her kindness touched Margaret’s heart. Sarah’s husband, Dennis, stood with her. His eyes revealed genuine compassion.
Margaret nodded, wishing she knew the couple better. It was her father who was well acquainted with the folks in Buffalo Valley. He’d been doing business there for years. Dennis delivered fuel to the ranch, so Margaret at least knew him, even if their relationship was just a casual one. Sarah owned and operated Buffalo Valley Quilts, a growing enterprise that seemed to be attracting interest all around the country. Margaret knew Sarah only by sight; they hadn’t shared more than a few perfunctory greetings.
She wanted to thank everyone for coming—she really did appreciate their expressions of sympathy and respect—and at the same time find a way to steer them out the door. Making conversation with people she hardly knew was beyond her. She was polite, cordial, but a tightness had gripped her chest, and it demanded every ounce of restraint she could muster not to rush to the barn, saddle Midnight and ride until she was too exhausted to go farther.
Bob and Merrily Carr came next, with their little boy, Axel. They owned and operated 3 OF A KIND, Buffalo Valley’s bar and grill. After that, the banker, Heath Quantrill, offered his condolences. Rachel Fischer was with him, and if Margaret remembered correctly, they were a couple now.
Ranchers and farmers crowded the house. So many people. There barely seemed room to breathe.
“Do you need anything?” Maddy McKenna asked with a gentleness that nearly broke Margaret’s facade. Maddy was the best friend she’d ever had. If anyone understood, it would be Maddy.
“I want everyone to leave,” Margaret whispered, fighting back emotion. The lump in her throat refused to go away and she had trouble talking around it.
Maddy took Margaret by the arm and led her down the long hallway to her bedroom. The two of them had spent many an afternoon in this very room; at Margaret’s entreaty, Maddy had tried to instruct her in the arts of looking and acting feminine—feminine enough to attract Matt Eilers. Not that her efforts had been noticed. Not by him, anyway.
“Sit,” Maddy ordered, pointing to Margaret’s bed.
Without argument, Margaret complied.
“When was the last time you had any sleep?”
Margaret blinked, unable to recall. “A while ago.” The night before the funeral she’d sat up and gone through her father’s papers. He had everything in order, as she’d suspected he would. He’d realized months ago that he was dying.
“Lie down,” Maddy said.
“I have a house full of company,” Margaret objected weakly. It went against the grain to let someone dictate what she should or shouldn’t do. With anyone else, she’d have made a fuss, insisted it was her place to be with her father’s friends.
“You’re dead on your feet,” Maddy told her.
Margaret nestled her head in her pillow, surprised by how good it felt against her face. How cool and comforting. I … I thought I was prepared,” she said, her eyes closed. “I thought I could handle this.”
“No one’s ever ready to lose a father,” Maddy said as she covered Margaret with the afghan from the foot of the bed. The weight of it settled warmly over her shoulders.
“Sleep now. By the time you wake, everyone will be gone.”
“Nothing’s ever going to be the same again,” Margaret whispered.
“You’re right, it won’t.”
Maddy’s voice sounded soothing, even if her words didn’t. But then, Margaret could count on her friend to tell the truth. Already she could feel sleep approach, could feel the tension leave her body. “Matt didn’t attend the funeral, did he?”
“No,” Maddy said.
“I thought he would.” She was keenly disappointed that he hadn’t bothered to show up.
“I know.”
Maddy was disappointed in him, too. Margaret could tell from the inflection in her voice. Few people understood why she loved Matt. If pressured to explain, Margaret wasn’t sure she could justify her feelings. Matt Eilers was as handsome as sin, shallow and conceited. But she loved him and had from the moment she’d met him.
With Maddy’s tutoring, Margaret had done everything possible to get Matt to recognize that she was a woman with a woman’s heart. A few months back, she’d had her hair done and put on panty hose for the first time in her life. The panty hose had nearly wrestled her to the ground and the new hairdo had made her look like one of the Marx Brothers—in her opinion, anyway. The whole beautifying operation had been a unique form of torture, but she’d willingly do it all again for Matt.
“I’m sure he’ll stop by later and pay his respects,” Margaret whispered, confident that he would.
“He should have been here today.” Maddy wasn’t nearly as forgiving. “Don’t worry about Matt.”
“I’m not.”
“Call me in the morning,” Maddy said.
“I will,” she promised, exhausted and grateful for Maddy’s friendship. Her last thought before she drifted off to sleep was of the father she loved and how bleak her life would feel without him.
Jeb McKenna knew his wife well, and her silence worried him as he drove the short distance between the Clemens house and his ranch. Unlike the Clemenses and most other ranchers in the area, Jeb raised bison; Maddy owned the grocery store in town. Right now, though, she was staying home with their infant daughter.
“You’re worried about Margaret, aren’t you?” he asked as he turned down the mile-long dirt driveway leading to their home. Maddy had barely said a word after seeing Margaret to her room.
“She was ready to collapse,” Maddy told him. “God only knows the last time she slept. Sadie said she’d been up for two nights straight.”
“Poor thing.” One didn’t generally think of Margaret in those terms. She came across as tough, strong, capable. They’d been neighbors for about five years—ever since Jeb had bought the property—and he’d seen Margaret on a number of different occasions. It was some time before he’d realized Margaret was a she instead of a he. It’d startled him, but he wasn’t the only person she’d inadvertently fooled. Maddy confessed that when they’d first met, she’d taken Margaret for a ranch hand.
“Bernard’s death has shaken her.”
Jeb understood. Joshua McKenna was in his late sixties now, and Jeb knew that sooner or later he, too, would lose his father. The inevitability of it made him feel a wave of sadness … and regret. He parked the car and turned off the engine.
“I’ll talk to Margaret in the morning,” Maddy said absently.
The October wind beat against him as Jeb climbed out of the vehicle and reached in the back to unfasten Julianne’s car seat. At three months she was showing more personality than he would’ve thought possible. She gurgled and smiled, waving her arms as though orchestrating life from her infant seat. She’d proved to be a good-natured baby, happy and even-tempered.
Carrying the baby seat, he covered Julianne’s face with the blanket and hurried toward the house, doing his best to protect his wife and daughter from the brunt of the wind.
Maddy switched on the kitchen lights and Jeb set the baby carrier on the recliner, unfastening Julianne and cradling her in his arms.
“I liked Pastor Dawson,” Maddy said casually.
The Methodist minister had recently taken up residence in town. Although Larry Dawson had grown up in Buffalo Valley, Jeb didn’t remember him. That wasn’t surprising, seeing that the pastor was near retirement age. Dawson was slight in stature, his hair—what was left of it—completely white. He hadn’t been in contact with Bernard Clemens for many years, but he’d given a respectable eulogy.
“The pastor invited us to church services on Sunday,” she murmured.
Although it was an offhand remark, Jeb knew Maddy was interested in becoming involved with a church community. He hesitated; the drive into Buffalo Valley took at least fifty minutes, and that was on a good day. Going to church would consume nearly all of Sunday morning. He opened his mouth, about to offer his wife a list of excuses as to why it would be inconvenient to attend. Before he could utter a word, he changed his mind. The fact that she’d mentioned the invitation at all meant this was important to her and shouldn’t be taken lightly.
When he married Maddy, Jeb knew there’d be a number of concessions on his part, but he loved her enough to make them. She’d certainly made concessions of her own—one of which was living so far out of town, away from her friends and the grocery she’d purchased a little more than a year ago. Church for Maddy would be a social outlet, and it would uplift her emotionally and spiritually. Women needed that.
Jeb and Maddy had met soon after she’d bought the one and only grocery store in Buffalo Valley. Her lifelong friend, Lindsay Snyder, had begun teaching at the high school and married Gage Sinclair the following summer. Maddy had been Lindsay’s maid of honor; the very day of the wedding she’d decided to settle in Buffalo Valley herself.
Jeb would be forever grateful that she had. His life changed the day he rescued Maddy during a blizzard. She’d been trapped in her car while delivering groceries and would have frozen to death if he hadn’t found her when he did. He’d brought her home with him, never suspecting that their time together would have consequences affecting both their lives. Consequences that included an unexpected pregnancy. He’d fallen in love with her in those three snowbound days. After losing his leg in a farming accident several years earlier, Jeb had thought it would never be possible for him to live a normal life again—or to feel normal emotions, normal desires. Maddy had shown him otherwise. They’d been married four months now and he was so much in love with her he had to pinch himself every once in a while to convince himself this was real.
“What do you think about us attending church services?” she pressed, studying him closely.
“I think that’s a fine idea,” he said. It wouldn’t hurt and might even do him some good.
Her smile told him how much she appreciated his response.
A few minutes later, Maddy efficiently changed Julianne’s diaper, then settled into the rocking chair. She unbuttoned her blouse and bared her breast for their baby. Fascinated, Jeb watched as his infant daughter instinctively turned toward her mother and greedily latched on.
Maddy rocked gently and hummed a lullaby. It wasn’t long before his daughter had taken her fill and Maddy carried her into the nursery to prepare her for the night.
Jeb had the television on, watching a news broadcast, when Maddy joined him. They’d decided to skip dinner, since they’d eaten the equivalent of a meal at Bernard’s wake that afternoon. Now, sitting at her husband’s side, Maddy picked up her knitting, a recently learned skill. Leta Betts, a devout knitter and Lindsay’s mother-in-law, had taught both Maddy and Lindsay how to knit while they were pregnant. “I wonder what Margaret’s going to do now.”
Jeb glanced away from the television long enough to recognize that Maddy needed to talk about this. He reached for the remote control and muted the sound. “It wasn’t as though Bernard’s death came as a shock.”
“I know. It’s just that …”
“What?” he urged.
“I’m worried about what’ll happen to Margaret without her father there to protect her.”
“How do you mean?”
“She’s alone for the first time in her life—and vulnerable.”
Jeb frowned. He hadn’t given the matter much thought, but Maddy was right. Margaret had lived a sheltered life, protected by her father and his name.
“She’s easy prey for some man. Anyone with a good line can just step in and take advantage of her. Look at all the attention she got at Bob and Merrily’s wedding.”
Jeb had no recollection of anything about that night except Maddy. She’d been seven months pregnant with his child. It was the night he’d asked her to marry him and she’d agreed.
“Almost every single man in Buffalo Valley invited Margaret to dance.”
It went without saying that the transformation in Margaret’s appearance and manner was due to Maddy’s efforts.
Maddy’s knitting needles clicked more rapidly, signaling her anxiety. “Margaret is about to become a very wealthy woman.”
“Credit her with some sense, Maddy,” Jeb said. “She’s intelligent and capable. Bernard made sure of that.”
“I agree with you, except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“She’d marry Matt Eilers in a heartbeat. Don’t ask me why, but she’s in love with the man.” The knitting needles were a blur by now. “He’d take advantage of her, too.”
“You don’t know that,” Jeb said, although he suspected she was right. He wasn’t any fonder of Matt Eilers than Maddy was. They’d never had any business dealings, he and Matt, so Jeb had no concrete reason to distrust the rancher. But he did.
“I hate myself for thinking ill of him,” she muttered.
Jeb shrugged. He viewed Eilers as a weak man, although he wasn’t sure exactly what had shaped that opinion.
Maddy’s sigh was expressive. “Last I heard, he was dating Sheryl Decker in Devils Lake.”
Jeb had never heard of her. “Who?”
“Sheryl Decker. She waits tables at a truck stop outside town.”
“Maybe he’ll marry her, then,” Jeb suggested, hoping that would be the end of the discussion.
Maddy sighed and relaxed the knitting needles in her lap. “We can always hope.”
“Matt,” Sheryl Decker called from the bedroom. “Bring me my cigarettes, would you?”
Matt opened the refrigerator and grabbed a cold can of beer. Sheryl knew he didn’t like her smoking, but his wishes didn’t dissuade her.
He returned to the bedroom and tossed the pack onto the bed, the abruptness of his action telling her he didn’t approve.
“You know how much I enjoy my smokes,” she said, pulling open her nightstand drawer and reaching for a lighter. She placed the cigarette between her lips, lit up and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.
Matt joined her on the bed and took a deep swallow of beer. He was upset with himself and with Sheryl. She knew he’d wanted to attend Bernard Clemens’s funeral. He might not have liked the wealthy rancher, but Clemens was his neighbor and he felt honor-bound to pay his last respects. Sheryl, however, had other ideas, and like a fool he’d fallen under her spell—and not for the first time, either. Without much effort, she’d managed to lure him into bed; despite his best intentions, he’d let it happen.
“Are you still mad at me?” she asked, running her long fingernail down the length of his arm.
“No,” he muttered. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself.
“You know I have to work tonight, and this afternoon was the only time we could be together.”
He did know. His mistake was in stopping by Sheryl’s place at all. He’d come into Devils Lake for feed and had expected to get back before the funeral.
“You can still go to the reception, can’t you?”
“No.”
She wrapped her arm around his bare chest. “I’m really sorry,” she purred like the sex kitten she was. Matt had never wanted this relationship to take the path it had. He’d started coming by once or twice a month for dinner and companionship. Occasionally he spent the night. They had an understanding, or so he’d assumed, one that provided mutual satisfaction. Lately, however, Sheryl had begun to bring up the uncomfortable subject of marriage. Matt didn’t try to argue simply because it was easier to let her talk than to argue.
“I was thinking we should get married after the first of the year,” she said, taking another deep drag of her cigarette.
Matt sighed. He didn’t understand what it was with women and marriage. “Yeah, maybe. Whatever.”
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” she said with heavy sarcasm.
“I can’t figure out why women are always so eager to get married.”
Sheryl stared at him incredulously. “Do you think I want to wait tables the rest of my life?”
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