Dakota Born. Debbie Macomber

over his shoulder.

      Joanie waited until she was sure he’d fallen asleep before she slipped out of the bedroom and walked into the living room. For two hours she sat alone in the dark and listened to the chime of the grandfather clock every fifteen minutes. Eleven. Quarter after eleven. Eleven-thirty. This was her life, she told herself. Her life that was disappearing.

      Joanie had gone into this marriage because she loved Brandon. It had seemed so right, despite her parents’ concerns. Brandon was responsible and hardworking, kind, gentle …

      They’d met, of all places, at a theater. She’d gone with a girlfriend who’d deserted her when she’d run into her latest heartthrob. Joanie had been about to leave when she saw Brandon and liked what she saw. So she’d purchased a ticket, anyway, and hoped against hope that he was attending the same movie.

      He was, and they’d sat not far from each other. Only later did he confess that he’d purchased the ticket for a different movie, but had followed her, hoping for the opportunity to get to know her. Joanie had gone from feeling flattered to infatuated all in one evening.

      After the movie, they’d had coffee together and talked for hours. They saw each other again the next weekend, and by then she’d broken up with Stan Simmons, much to her parents’ disappointment. Stan’s father owned a huge appliance store that did a lot of advertising; Stan-the-Man’s television ads were often humorous, and he’d become a local celebrity. Stan Jr. was in line to take over the family business. Marrying him would have guaranteed her a life free of financial worries. Instead, Joanie had followed her heart. Not once had she regretted that decision.

      She still didn’t regret it—unhappy though she was right now. Despite their problems, Joanie deeply loved her husband. What she had to do was find a way to recapture what they’d lost. She couldn’t do it all on her own, though; Brandon had to want it, too.

      “Joanie?” Her husband stood silhouetted in the dim moonlight. “What are you doing up?”

      “I … I couldn’t sleep.”

      “Because of what I said?”

      She nodded.

      “Let’s not fight, baby.”

      “I don’t want to, either,” she whispered.

      He held his arms open to her and she went to him, savoring the feel of his embrace. “I woke up and found you gone,” he murmured against her hair. Then with a deep, shuddering sigh, he told her, “We’ll find a way to buy you that new washer. The corn’s good this year. Come harvest, we’ll buy you a washer—and a dryer, too. I promise.”

      “It’s all right. I can make do for a while. Joshua can keep the washer going for me. And the dryer should last until next year.”

      Her husband kissed the top of her head and his lips lingered there, giving Joanie the impression that he was either immersed in thought or still half-asleep. “Come to bed,” he urged a moment later. He slid his arm around her waist and led her back to their bedroom. She moved into his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder. He didn’t reach for her to make love, and she didn’t indicate that she was interested. The physical aspect of their marriage had always been strong—except for the past few months. When all else failed, this was an area where communication had remained healthy. But it’d been a month since the last time he’d wanted her … and a month, more than a month, since she’d wanted him.

      It wasn’t a good sign and Joanie drifted into an uneasy sleep, worried that her marriage was in more serious trouble than she’d suspected.

      Refreshed and rejuvenated from her two-week vacation, Lindsay hadn’t been home an hour—hadn’t even picked up the dogs from her parents yet—when Monte showed up at her apartment door, holding a huge bouquet of long-stemmed red roses. The flowers were beautiful; even more beautiful was the look on Monte’s face. Without a word it told her how much he’d missed her, how bereft he’d felt while she was away. That look alone was worth every miserable moment they’d been apart. It was a mistake to be this happy, to feel such undiluted joy, but she couldn’t help herself.

      “Welcome home,” he said at last.

      “Oh, Monte.” She covered her mouth with one hand, hardly able to believe he’d come.

      Before another moment passed, she was in his arms. “I’ve been lost without you,” he whispered between kisses. “Never again,” he insisted, clasping her by the shoulders and gazing intensely into her eyes.

      The roses were clutched in Lindsay’s arms, the thorns biting into her skin, but she barely felt the pain. “Who told you I was home?” she asked breathlessly, once they broke apart.

      “No one. I overheard your uncle say you’d be back sometime today.”

      Not knowing how to react, Lindsay stared down at the flowers. She loved him, she’d missed him—but she wasn’t ready for a confrontation. Especially now, with her heart so hungry for the sight of him. Again and again she tried to remind herself that they’d covered this ground before. Nothing was going to change. And as she acknowledged this, her joy at seeing him began to dissolve.

      “I know you said you wanted to break things off, but I’m hoping you’ve come to your senses. Tell me you have,” he pleaded. When she didn’t immediately respond, Monte answered for her. “Your kisses say you’ve been missing me,” he whispered.

      “I did miss you.” She couldn’t lie, but the truth was more than she wanted to confess. In an effort to diminish the growing intimacy, she carried the roses into the kitchen.

      “I’ve done nothing but think about you,” Monte told her.

      Lindsay brought out the stepladder to reach for the vase stored above the refrigerator. She’d done a lot of thinking, too. But during her trip, on the road with Maddy, everything had seemed much clearer than it did now.

      Monte leaned against the counter, gazing steadily at her. “You’ve had two weeks. Surely you realize we belong together.”

      Lindsay set down the vase. It seemed ridiculous that they should be having the most important—and perhaps the final—discussion of their relationship while standing in the middle of her tiny kitchen. There was so much she’d wanted to tell him, about her trip and her visit to Buffalo Valley. She yearned to share the things she’d learned, the places she’d seen—the Badlands, Yellowstone Park, Mount Rushmore. He was her friend, too, and that aspect of their relationship was as difficult to relinquish as the rest.

      “You’ve come to your senses, haven’t you?”

      “Yes, I suppose I have.” She sounded so … weak, so unsure. She was weak, but her resolve was growing stronger. She refused to let him talk her out of the very things that were most important to her.

      Monte sighed. “Thank heaven for that.”

      It took him a moment to realize she was still standing on the other side of the room. “Come here, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”

      “I don’t think you understand.” Her voice was emotionless.

      “You said you’d come to your senses.”

      “I have—and it’s over, Monte. Unless you’ve changed your mind about marriage and a family. And I don’t think you have.”

      He stared at her as if he didn’t believe her. “You don’t mean that,” he said, shaking his head impatiently.

      “I do mean it.”

      “I’ve heard that before, Lindsay, and it’s foolishness. We belong together, we always have. You know it, and I do, too. We’re good together.”

      “That’s true, Monte, but I want more. I want a husband and children. Is that so difficult to understand?”

      His mouth thinned. “For the love of God, does it always have to go