“I can’t talk about it yet,” Maddy said, not wanting to elaborate further. “I will in a month or two.”
“All right,” Lindsay murmured and affectionately squeezed Maddy’s hand. “We’ll change the subject.”
Maddy was grateful. “Tell me what you know about Jeb McKenna.”
“Jeb,” Lindsay repeated slowly. “You like him?”
“I don’t know him.” She could see that Lindsay was already reading something into her curiosity. It was her own fault for asking, but the strong, silent types had always intrigued her.
“You’ve met him and I haven’t,” Lindsay reminded her.
“True.”
“Calla’s mentioned her uncle quite a few times and I know about him, but I’m afraid I can’t be any help.” She met Maddy’s eyes. “You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”
Maddy hesitated, not sure how to answer. Yes, she was attracted; in fact, Jeb fascinated her. She suspected that behind his gruff exterior lay a kind, gentle man, one she’d like to know.
“I guess I am interested,” she admitted after a lengthy pause.
“Oh, Maddy…” Lindsay sighed. “I’m afraid Jeb McKenna will only break your heart.”
Sunday evenings were traditionally the slowest of the week for Buffalo Bob. Most folks tended to stay home. He’d thought about closing the restaurant on Sundays, but hell, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if it wasn’t for cooking and serving up a beer or two. Besides, he had to keep busy or he’d start thinking about Merrily again.
She’d left, gone five weeks already. He’d never understood what made her come and go the way she did. Things would be just fine for a while and then suddenly, without explanation, she’d disappear.
Usually she didn’t even bother to write him a note. Other times she’d leave something on the pillow. Something he knew she treasured. He guessed it was her way of telling him she’d be back.
Nothing seemed right without Merrily. A thousand times over the past three years he’d told himself he was better off without her. But he couldn’t make himself believe it because deep down he knew it wasn’t true.
He rode a Harley and wore his hair in a ponytail, and most folks assumed he’d belonged to a badass motorcycle gang. The truth was, he’d never been involved in gang activities. Oh, he dressed the part, purposely gave people that impression, even dropped hints about the lifestyle—but it wasn’t true. None of it. He’d been a loner most of his life. He liked to suggest he’d been places and done things he could never talk about, but he hadn’t, although he did have a few connections. He’d been on the fringes of a few shady deals, but nothing serious and nothing he was willing to brag about, especially now that he was a business owner and a member of the town council.
Yeah, he was a success these days—a genuine, bona fide establishment success. His father would never believe it.
Bob knew he’d made his share of stupid mistakes, but he was a man who wanted the same things every other man did. And that included his own woman. He’d known right away that Merrily was the one for him. He was crazy about her.
He probably shouldn’t be. For all he knew, she could have ten other men just like him in places all around the country. He had no idea where she went or who she was with. Only once in all this time had she mailed him a postcard. It’d come from someplace in California in the middle of winter, when the wind-chill factor lowered temperatures in Buffalo Valley to Arctic levels. He’d been shivering his ass off and she’d been getting a tan on a California beach.
Locking the door, Buffalo Bob shut down the restaurant and bar for the night. No need to sit in an empty room, cranky and depressed, when he could do the same thing in front of his television.
He’d just started up the stairs when he heard the phone. He paused, his foot on the bottom step, half-tempted to let it ring. But he didn’t get many calls, and curiosity got the better of him.
“Yeah?” he barked into the phone.
“Hey, is that any way to greet your one and only Buffalo Gal?”
“Merrily? Where the hell are you?”
“Same place as always.”
“What the hell are you doing there when you should be here?” He knew she didn’t like it when he made demands, but he couldn’t stop himself. “When’re you coming back?”
“Miss me, do you?”
She didn’t know the half of it. “You could say that,” he said, playing it low-key.
Her laugh was quiet and sexy. Just hearing it sent shivers racing down his spine. It hurt his pride to let her know what a sorry excuse for a man he was without her. But, dammit, she meant more to him than even his pride.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” she whispered, as if it was a concession for her to admit that much.
“You coming back or not?”
“I’ve been considering it.” She laughed again and he could imagine the look on her face—her teasing smile, her eyes wide open, eyebrows raised.
“When will you get here? I’ll put out the welcome mat.” Despite everything, he couldn’t keep the eagerness from his voice.
“I can’t say,” she murmured.
“You need help?”
“What kind of help?”
“I could send you money.” Buffalo Bob realized the minute he said the words that he’d made a mistake. Like him, Merrily had an abundance of pride, and he’d already stepped on it once, earlier in their relationship, by offering her a loan. In fact, she’d come to him that day, wanting to help him without stepping on his pride. Her generosity had touched his heart and it was then that he’d recognized something profound. He loved her.
Buffalo Bob wasn’t a man who loved easily. Over the years he’d had plenty of women, and sex had always been available. He hadn’t been looking for emotional engagements. Women passed in and out of his life; he barely noticed. Merrily was different, had always been different.
“I don’t need your money,” she said curtly.
“Okay, okay. But if you ever do—”
“I gotta go.”
“Merrily,” he shouted, stopping her, “don’t hang up!”
“What?” she snapped.
“You didn’t say where you were.”
“So what?” She sounded bored.
“What’s the weather like?” It was a silly question and without purpose, other than keeping her on the line.
“I don’t know. Gotta go outside and look.”
“It was over eighty here last Tuesday.”
“In Buffalo Valley?” Her voice was skeptical. “I thought you’d have had your first snowfall by now.”
“We could get snow this month, but more likely it’ll come in November.” He grimaced; he was beginning to sound like a television weatherman.
“Gotta go,” Merrily insisted.
“Call me again, all right?” He tried not to plead.
“I… I don’t know if I can.”
“Why not?” he demanded. A hundred scenarios raced through his mind and he didn’t like any of them. “You’re with someone else, aren’t you?”
“You