The Dakota Man. Joan Hohl

could only be described as reckless. “You know those possibilities I mentioned?”

      “Ye-e-es…” Hannah eyed her with budding alarm. “But now I’m almost afraid to ask.”

      Maggie laughed; it felt good, so she laughed again. “I’ll tell you, anyway. Come with me, my friend,” she invited, turning away from the room and the scattered debris that had once been her wedding gown. “Venting my spleen in here made me thirsty. We’ll talk over coffee.”

      “You can’t be serious.” Her half-full cup of coffee—her third—in front of her, Hannah stared at Maggie in sheer disbelief.

      “I assure you I am. Dead serious,” Maggie said, her features set in lines of determination. “I have already started the ball rolling.”

      “By slashing your gown to ribbons?” Hannah asked, her tone reflecting the hope that her friend hadn’t done something even more drastic.

      “Oh, that. That was symbolic.” Maggie dismissed the act with a flick of her hand. “I couldn’t stand looking at it another minute. No,” she said, shaking her head. “What I have done to get the ball rolling was to spend this lovely Sunday morning composing notes to all the guests invited to the wedding, informing them that there would be no wedding, after all, e-mailing those on-line, and preparing the rest for snail-mail delivery.”

      “If you’d given me a holler, I’d have gladly helped you with that,” Hannah said, heaving a sigh of exasperation.

      “Thanks, but, well…” Maggie shrugged. “That chore is done.”

      “You didn’t e-mail your parents….” Hannah’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you?”

      “Well, of course not. I telephoned them.” Maggie sighed. “They were understandably upset, insisted I go spend some time with them in Hawaii.”

      “Good idea.”

      Maggie gave a quick head shake. “No, it isn’t. They both took early retirement and moved to Hawaii to relax after Dad’s mild heart attack. If I went there, in the mood I’m in, Mom would probably knock herself out to fuss all over me. Dad would likewise fret, curtail his golf games and try to distract and entertain me. And I’d feel guilty as hell because of it.”

      Hannah frowned but nodded. “I suppose.”

      Maggie soldiered on. “I also drafted a letter to my superior at work, giving my one-month notice of my intention to leave the firm.”

      Hannah’s eyes widened with alarm. “Maggie, you didn’t.”

      “I did,” Maggie assured her, raising a hand to keep her friend from interrupting. “What’s more, I faxed a Realtor I know, asking him if he’d be interested in listing my apartment for sale.”

      Hannah jumped from her chair. “Maggie, no.” She shook her head, setting her sleek, bobbed honey-brown hair swinging. “You can’t do that.”

      “I damn well can,” Maggie retorted. “My grandmother left this place to me, I own it free and clear.” She rolled her eyes. “And the forever taxes that go with it.”

      “But…” Her hair swung again, wildly. “Why? Where will you go? Where will you live?”

      “Why? Because I’m tired of the treadmill, nose to the grindstone, following the rules.” Maggie shrugged. “Who knows, maybe I’ll join the circus.”

      “I don’t believe I’m hearing this.” As if unable to remain still, Hannah began to pace back and forth in front of the table. “To give up your job, sell your apartment…” Hannah threw up her hands. “That’s crazy.”

      “Hannah—” Maggie came close to shouting “—I feel crazy.”

      “So you’re just going to take off?”

      “Yes.”

      “For how long, for Pete’s sake?”

      Maggie hesitated, shrugged, then answered, “Until I’m broke, or no longer feel crazy enough to break things and hurt people… Todd what’s-his-name in particular.”

      “Oh, Maggie,” Hannah murmured in commiseration, dropping onto her chair. “He’s not worth all this anguish.”

      “I know that,” Maggie agreed. “But knowing it doesn’t help. So I’m cutting out, cutting loose.”

      “But, Maggie…” Hannah actually wailed.

      Maggie shook her head, hard. “You can’t change my mind, Hannah. I’ve got the itch to run free for a while and I’m going to scratch it.”

      “But you must have some idea where you’re going,” Hannah persisted, always the one for detail.

      “No.” Maggie shrugged. “Who knows, maybe I’ll wind up in Nebraska.”

      Two

      Three months later

      The redhead knocked the breath out of him. A jolt of energy, physical and sexual in nature, made the body-blow a double whammy.

      Mitch was both shocked and confused by his reaction to the woman Karla ushered into his office. It certainly wasn’t that she was a stunning beauty; she wasn’t. Oh, it wasn’t that she was not attractive; she most definitely was, very attractive. But he knew many attractive and even a few stunning women, and yet he had never experienced such a strong and immediate response to any one of them.

      Strange.

      Baffled, yet careful not to reveal his condition, Mitch studied the woman as she crossed the room to his desk. On closer inspection, one might even concede she possessed a particular beauty…if one had a weakness for tall, slender women with creamy skin, a wide mouth with full lips, slightly slanted forest-glen-green eyes and long, thick hair of a deep shade of flaming red.

      Apparently, Mitch wryly concluded, he did have such a previously unrecognized weakness.

      At least, his knees felt a little weak; he felt the tremor in them when she drew closer.

      Up close, she looked even better…damn the luck.

      But, one thing was for certain, Mitch mused, she sure as hell hadn’t dressed to make an impression. Her casual attire made a silent declaration of her utter disregard for conventional, or his personal, opinion.

      She came to a stop next to a chair in front of his desk.

      Mitch came to his senses.

      Cursing his uncharacteristic distraction, he made a show of perusing her application.

      “Ms. Reynolds?” Raising his gaze from the papers in his hand, he offered her a faint smile.

      “Yes.” Her attractive voice was soft, modulated, neutral, her return smile a pale reflection of his own.

      He leaned forward over his desk and extended his right hand. “Mitch Grainger,” he said, amazed by the tingling sensation caused by the touch of her palm to his in the brief handshake. “Have a seat.” He flicked the still-tingling hand at the chair beside her.

      “Thank you.” With what appeared to be relaxed and effortless grace, she stepped in front of the chair and lowered herself into it. Settled, she met his direct stare with calm patience.

      Watch it, Grainger, Mitch advised himself. This is one woman determined not to be intimidated.

      He arched a brow. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, while I give your application a quick once-over?”

      She deigned to nod her permission.

      Cool? Mitch speculated, unlocking his gaze from the brilliant green of hers to skim the application. Or was she, like Natalie Crane, just plain glacier-cold, through and through?

      To his astonishment, after the fiasco of his engagement,