Always Dakota. Debbie Macomber

       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

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      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