Always Dakota. Debbie Macomber

are you thinking about?”

      He didn’t want to talk, and wished now that he’d showered and left before she woke.

      “Nothing,” he muttered and tried to get up, but she’d wrapped her leg around his and held him tightly in place.

      “We need to talk about Margaret.”

      “She’s off-limits,” he said in no uncertain terms. His voice was cold, and loud enough to make his head pound even more. He tossed aside the sheet and despite her effort to hold him, Matt scurried out of bed and reached for his jeans.

      “You like her, don’t you?” Sheryl asked, sitting up and clutching the sheet to her breasts.

      “It doesn’t matter what I feel for Margaret.”

      Sheryl was suspiciously silent. “You don’t have to marry her, if you don’t want to,” she said now. “It was just an idea.”

      “A stupid one.”

      Sheryl looked repentant. “All right, it was a stupid idea, but I was honestly thinking of her.”

      “Yeah, I’ll bet you were.”

      “I was,” she cried, sounding hurt that he didn’t believe her. “This is a difficult time in Margaret’s life. She’s alone, and that’s scary. She needs someone like you.”

      “I’m the last person she needs.” He fastened his denim shirt, closing the snaps with more force than necessary. When he got to the bottom, he realized he had one snap too many.

      “Oh, Matt, don’t be in such a hurry to leave me,” Sheryl said, smiling softly. Scrambling off the bed, she stood nude before him and unfastened his shirt, then refastened it correctly.

      “I have to go.”

      “When will I see you again?” she pleaded. Pulling on her flimsy housecoat, she followed him to the front door.

      “I don’t know.” That was what he told her, but he’d made his decision. He and Sheryl were finished. He didn’t like the way she schemed to bring down another woman. It bothered him that she was so willing to hurt and humiliate Margaret on the patently false pretext of helping her. Sheryl was a user, and he’d been a fool to get involved with her.

      The first thing Matt did when he arrived back at his ranch was take a long hot shower. He scrubbed hard to eradicate the scent of Sheryl’s heavy perfume. By the time he stepped out of the shower, his skin was red and stung from the scouring.

      The phone rang just as he was about to walk out the door. If it was Sheryl he’d tell her not to phone again. Their relationship was over. Finished. No more.

      It wasn’t Sheryl, though.

      “Margaret.” He couldn’t hide his surprise. Ready to vent his anger at Sheryl, he was caught off guard by his neighbor’s voice.

      “I can call back if need be,” she said.

      “This is as good a time as any,” he responded, wondering at the call. They’d been neighbors four years and she’d never phoned him before.

      She waited a moment. “You doing anything Thanksgiving?”

      The holiday was the following week. Matt wasn’t someone who received a lot of invitations. “No.”

      “Do you want to come to my place for dinner?”

      The truth of what Sheryl had said hit home. Without her father, Margaret was alone for the first time in her life. Sure, there were the housekeeper and the ranch hands, but they had their own families. Matt knew what it was to spend holidays alone. It wasn’t a good feeling. “You cooking the turkey?” he asked.

      “I’d be willing to give it a try, if you’re willing to come.”

      Matt thought about the other ranchers he knew. They all had families to share the holiday with or someplace to go and someone special to see. Matt didn’t, and apparently Margaret didn’t, either.

      “I can bring the cranberries,” he offered.

      “Does this mean you’ll come?” Her voice rose with unmistakable pleasure.

      People generally didn’t get excited about cooking him a meal. “I guess it does.”

      “I was serious about cooking the turkey, you know.”

      “I’m serious, too,” he told her, grinning. He seemed to be doing a lot of that around Margaret. He’d come to know her a little, and every exposure left him feeling good, a sharp contrast to the way he’d been with Sheryl. “I’ll bring a bottle of wine and we can talk.”

      “Talk?” This seemed to fluster her. “What do you want to talk about?”

      “I don’t know. Do we have to decide that now?”

      She hesitated, as though measuring her words. “We could discuss those kisses … that is, if you want?”

      “All right,” he returned. It was easy to forget how direct Margaret could be.

      “You know what I think?”

      “What?”

      “That you were just as surprised as me.”

      “At kissing you?” he asked.

      “You liked it, didn’t you? That’s what threw you for a loop.”

      He didn’t answer her, because he had enjoyed their kisses. And because she was absolutely correct: he’d been surprised.

      “Am I right, Matt?”

      He sighed and wondered if he dared admit it. Past experience had taught him it was better to hide a potentially dangerous fact.

      “Why don’t we save this discussion for later?” he hedged.

      “Okay,” she agreed, sounding eager.

      The truth was, Matt was sure he’d disappoint Margaret Clemens. He understood why her father had talked to him. Hell, had their positions been reversed—had she been his daughter—he would have done the same thing.

      Heath was finally going to tell his grandmother the news she’d been waiting to hear. Thanksgiving seemed the perfect time. During his youth, the two of them were often at odds. It had taken time and distance and more than one clash of wills for him to understand why. They were too much alike. She was a cantankerous old woman, but Heath loved her. He also respected her business acumen and valued her advice—even when it got a little too personal.

      He left Rachel and Mark at his house in Grand Forks and drove to the retirement center where Lily Quantrill resided. As far as family went, Lily was all he had.

      “I can’t understand why you insist on taking me out to eat,” she snapped the instant he arrived.

      She was confined to a wheelchair now and he knew she hated it, but that was no reason to stay inside when the fresh air might do her some good.

      “I thought you’d enjoy getting out for a few hours,” Heath told her.

      She wheeled toward him and reached for her hat. Posed in front of a mirror, which had been hung deliberately low, she set it on her head and pinned it in place. “Where did you say we were going?”

      “I didn’t,” he reminded her.

      Lily paused in her task and glared up at him. “You know I don’t like surprises.”

      “Yes, Grandma.”

      “Then tell me where we’re headed.”

      Heath sighed. “To eat Thanksgiving dinner.”

      Her pinched lips told him she wasn’t pleased. He ignored her bad mood and laid the heavy winter coat across her lap. No need to put it on until he had her down on the first floor.

      “It’s