“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