Always Dakota. Debbie Macomber

it was.

      “It’ll be the first Thanksgiving we’ve had in eleven years. You aren’t walking out on me now, are you, kid?”

      “I said I hadn’t made up my mind yet.”

      He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed. “Did she tell you she’s pregnant?”

      Calla’s gaze flew to her father. He was baiting her and she refused to bite. It would be just like Willie to make this up, but at the same time Calla knew that Dennis wanted a family. She supposed her mother could be pregnant. Still, she wasn’t sure she could trust Willie.

      “She told me so herself,” he muttered.

      “I don’t believe you.”

      “Ask her, then. She was saving it as a big secret, but she spilled the beans last time she called.”

      Calla frowned uncertainly. Her father had a habit of lying, of saying exactly what she wanted to hear. Or didn’t want to hear, depending on the reaction he was after.

      “I’ll tell you what,” Willie said, sounding bored with the subject. “You do what you want for Thanksgiving. Stay or go, it’s up to you. But as for your mother having a baby, ask yourself what you think is true.” With that, he left.

      Calla stared down at the airline ticket. Then, with a deep sigh, jumped to her feet and threw it onto the rickety dresser beside the bed.

      Her mother had made her choice, and she’d picked Dennis Urlacher over her.

       Three

      Rachel Fischer sat in a corner of her restaurant kitchen, where she kept her computer and desk. Writing out a check for the final payment of her loan from the Buffalo County Bank, she signed her name with a flair—and a deep sense of satisfaction. She ripped the check from the book, then stared at it, absorbing the significance of the moment. From this point forward, she was out of debt and free to pursue a relationship with Heath Quantrill, the bank president.

      With the last of her bills paid for the month, she put on her hat and coat and headed for the bank. She walked briskly, facing the wind. Normally, the cold cut straight through her, but not today. She hadn’t seen Heath in a few weeks and looked forward to personally handing him the check.

      He served as the senior loan officer and manager and worked at the Buffalo Valley branch three days a week, spending the other two at the bank’s headquarters in Grand Forks.

      Rachel and Heath had an on-again/off-again relationship that she’d wasted copious hours analyzing. But over the summer their romance had grown serious and they saw one another exclusively. Since Rachel was a widow, much of her time went into supporting herself and her son. Heath wanted her to go out with him more often, but that was impossible and often a source of conflict. He’d suggested that if she invested as much time in their relationship as she did in her business, she need never worry about working again. The memory of that conversation infuriated her whenever she thought about it.

      This past year had been difficult for them. She’d expanded both the hours and the menu of her weekend pizza delivery service—to reasonably consistent success. After paying off her original loan—for the pizza oven—she’d borrowed from the bank again to purchase tables and chairs and had turned her restaurant into a sit-down place serving dinner five days a week.

      Her parents owned the building, so her rent was low. They’d operated the Morningside Café for many years, until the diner simply couldn’t survive in such a difficult economic climate. It’d broken her mother’s heart to leave Buffalo Valley and she’d pleaded with Rachel to join them in Arizona.

      A recent widow at the time, Rachel had debated long and hard about uprooting her young son, and eventually decided against it. Mark had endured enough upheaval in his life after the loss of his father. Besides, every book she’d read on widowhood suggested she delay making a major decision for at least twelve months.

      In order to support herself, Rachel drove the school bus and worked as a part-time bookkeeper for Knight’s Pharmacy. She was barely scraping by when she came up with the idea of starting her own pizza parlor. Actually, it was her son who’d made the suggestion, claiming her homemade pizza was better than the pizza he’d eaten in a fast-food restaurant at a friend’s birthday party in Grand Forks.

      That was when she’d first met Heath Quantrill. Business plan in hand, she’d gone to the bank to apply for a loan. Heath had read over her application, and then, with barely a pause, refused her. True, she had nothing for collateral, although she’d offered her wedding band. She realized that on paper her business venture didn’t look promising, but she was young, healthy, ambitious and determined. In addition, she’d been around the restaurant business her entire life. Heath had taken none of that into account.

      The next few days had been bleak ones for Rachel. Then, to her amazement, Heath had phoned and announced he’d changed his mind. He’d never actually told her why, but she had her suspicions. Hassie Knight was good friends with Lily Quantrill, Heath’s grandmother, and Rachel strongly suspected that Hassie had mentioned the loan to Lily, who had persuaded Heath to relent. Knowing Lily, she didn’t think the persuasion had been of the gentle variety.

      The bank was busy when Rachel walked in. Both tellers had lineups. Joanie Wyatt was there with her toddler son, and Steve Baylor, a local farmer, stood behind her. Even before she’d opened her restaurant, Rachel knew everyone in town. That wasn’t saying much, though, since almost everyone knew everyone else. It was one of the advantages of living in a small town. And one of the disadvantages—when tongues wagged and other people got involved in her personal business. But for the most part she considered it a blessing.

      Heath, who was in his private office, was chatting with Carl Hooper, the manager of the JCPenney catalogue store. His door was half-open, and he glanced up when she came into the bank. He smiled, clearly pleased to see her.

      Content to wait, Rachel took a chair. The bank was the only brick building in town, and one of the nicest, inside and out. Heath’s grandparents had founded Buffalo County Bank shortly after World War II and over the years had expanded to ten branches across the state. Their only son and his wife had died within a short time of each other, leaving two sons, Max and Heath. The elder, Max, was the one who’d revealed an interest in the business and Lily, by now a widow, was grooming him to take over as president. Then Max had been killed in a car crash, and Heath, the playboy adventurer, had returned from Europe to take his brother’s place. It hadn’t been easy to step into Max’s shoes, and Heath had struggled with finding his own path these past few years.

      Carl Hooper left five minutes later and Rachel sprang from her seat, then walked into Heath’s office, approaching his desk.

      “Hello,” he said, standing to greet her. “It’s good to see you.”

      “Good to see you, too.” Oddly, she felt almost shy now that she actually faced him. They stared at each other a moment before Rachel explained the purpose of her visit. “I have two things for you,” she announced, pulling out the chair recently vacated by Carl Hooper.

      “Two?” Heath raised his brows and sat down himself.

      “First of all,” she said, opening her purse, “this, as far as I’m aware, is the final payment on my second loan.” She handed him the check, stretching her arm across his desk.

      “And as far as I’m aware, you’re right,” Heath said as he took her check. He looked expectantly back at her.

      “Also,” she said, feeling flustered and excited, “I have an answer for you.”

      “Really.” His voice became suspiciously unemotional. They’d talked about marriage a number of times, but Rachel had always managed to put him off. It didn’t seem right to accept an engagement ring while she owed him money. Now the loan was paid off, she felt free to change that.

      “I love you, Heath,” she whispered, wishing she’d chosen the time and place more carefully. In her excitement, she’d