Hassie came into the room, carrying the coffeepot. Leta followed with a tray holding the sugar bowl and a pitcher of cream.

  “Do we have to discuss this now?” Hassie asked, glancing from one to the other.

  “Not at all,” Lindsay said, eager to move on to a different topic.

  “My brother owns this land. This is his inheritance, his heritage, and he isn’t going to turn his back on it.”

  “But he loves art.” Lindsay knew that Kevin had talent; the boy was passionate about art and she refused to discount his talent or his desire.

  “I didn’t say he couldn’t draw if that’s what he wants,” Gage snapped. “But as far as I’m concerned, art school is a waste of time and effort. He should be taking business and agricultural classes, not art. We can find the money for agricultural college because that’s an investment in his future. Art school isn’t.” Gage set his coffee aside and strolled over to the window, gazing out at acre after acre of snow-covered fields, his hands deep in his pants pockets. “We just can’t afford it,” he said with finality.

  “But if Kevin gets a scholarship, money won’t be an issue,” she said.

  “There are other issues besides money. There’s Kevin’s responsibility to his family, to this farm, to—”

  “But what about his responsibility to his talent?” Lindsay asked.

  Gage turned to glare at her. “You aren’t from North Dakota. You don’t know.”

  “I know plenty,” Lindsay had thrown back at him, resenting his words. She struggled not to say more, not to escalate their disagreement. Despite what Gage said, she was part of the Buffalo Valley community. Her family’s roots went as deep into the soil of this land as his. She felt offended that any time she disagreed with him, Gage would bring up the fact that she’d come from Savannah. She wasn’t a stranger. She lived and worked in Buffalo Valley, same as he did. She might not be Dakota-born, but that didn’t make her understand hardships and trouble any the less.

  “Children, please,” Leta said, sitting down with her coffee. “We can decide all these things later. Not today. It’s Christmas.”

  For a moment, she thought Gage would be willing to let it go, but then he looked at his brother. “Kevin, this is your life. What do you want?”

  Poor Kevin stared at them, his face stricken.

  “You can’t put him on the spot like this,” Lindsay cried. “It isn’t fair!”

  “He needs to decide,” Gage said coldly. “Once you understand that my brother knows his duty, maybe you’ll stop filling his head with this nonsense.”

  “Nonsense?”

  “Okay, okay,” Gage said, and held up one palm. “Maybe that wasn’t the right word, but you need to face reality here.” He glanced at his brother. “Tell her, Kevin.”

  The boy gazed straight ahead, his eyes unwavering. “This land is my inheritance. I’ll be a farmer, just like Gage said.”

  Gage’s expression was so smug, Lindsay stood up and walked into the kitchen before she could say something that would make matters even worse. Other than their polite farewells later in the day, Gage and Lindsay didn’t speak again.

  The Saturday following Christmas, Lindsay talked to Maddy for a full hour by phone. She’d been worried about her best friend, who was rarely home before eight or nine at night. So much of herself, her very heart, went into her work with Social Services and the volunteer projects that were so important to her. Lindsay could see the trouble as clearly as Maddy had seen her problems with Monte.

  Maddy cared, perhaps too much. She genuinely wanted to help. The families she worked with were so needy and desperate that when someone as giving and generous as Maddy stepped into their lives, they drained her. She told Lindsay about a case she’d been working on recently, involving a mother with three daughters. The situation was one of abuse, both emotional and physical, and Maddy was under tremendous stress trying to decide if the girls should be taken out of the family home and placed in foster care. Her fear was that once the girls, especially the oldest girl, were away from their mother, they’d run away and end up on the streets. Maddy was getting no cooperation from the mother and very little from the daughters.

  Lindsay listened and asked questions and sympathized until her friend changed the subject—to Gage and the disastrous Christmas dinner.

  “So you and Gage had another argument,” Maddy said, sounding amused.

  Lindsay didn’t want to talk about herself, but Maddy so rarely shared her own troubles that she felt obliged. “It seems all we do is fight,” she murmured.

  “Which, in my opinion, is a lot healthier than the relationship you had with Monte.”

  Lindsay didn’t quite see it that way. “If you say so.”

  “Speaking of good ol’ Monte, what was in that large package he mailed you for Christmas? I ran into him at the post office, you know.”

  “A cashmere sweater.” It’d probably cost a hundred times more than the crystal apple-shaped paperweight Gage had given her, along with a small letter opener that had belonged to his grandfather. She would treasure both, and stuff Monte’s sweater in the back of her closet.

  “Did you send Monte a gift?”

  “Just a Christmas card.” There’d been no letter in the package, no insulting note or blackmail or accusations. It appeared Monte was finally getting the message. Her leaving Savannah wasn’t a ploy, a game or a trick to persuade him to marry her. It was real—her real life.

  “You’ll patch things up with Gage.”

  Lindsay hoped that was true, for Kevin’s sake, and for her own.

  She and Maddy always exchanged books for Christmas, and they spent some time discussing the titles they’d chosen. Maddy had sent her a history of American theater; she’d sent Maddy a photographic guide to the Dakotas. Once they’d finished their conversation and hung up, the afternoon dragged for Lindsay. She was ready for school to start, ready to end the holidays—and ready to end this squabble with Gage. One of them had to make the first gesture toward reconciliation.

  When the doorbell chimed late in the afternoon, Lindsay immediately thought of Gage. If he ventured into town, it was almost always on a Saturday. Mutt and Jeff raced her to the door, barking furiously.

  Leta Betts stood at the door, bundled up against the winter cold, a wicker basket over one arm.

  “Leta,” she said, genuinely glad to see Gage’s mother. “Come in, please.”

  The older woman stomped the snow off her boots and loosened her scarf before she entered the house.

  “I was just putting on a pot of tea. Would you like some?” Lindsay asked.

  “I would love a cup,” Leta told her and after pulling off her boots and coat, followed Lindsay into the kitchen. She set the basket on the countertop. “I brought you a dozen eggs.”

  “Leta, how thoughtful.”

  “I have a lot to thank you for, Lindsay,” she said in a solemn tone. “Including what you’ve done for Kevin.” She paused. “It was brave of you to confront Gage like that.”

  “I should have waited. Christmas Day wasn’t the best time for us to…exchange our views.” She wouldn’t drag Kevin’s mother into the controversy, but wished she knew her thoughts.

  Carrying the pot of tea and two cups to the table, she sat across from Leta.

  “I’m afraid my son can be too stubborn at times. Gage takes his family responsibilities very seriously. He wants what’s best for Kevin. He’s tried to prepare his brother for life as a farmer. Kevin’s always been slated to take over the farm—and it’s what Gage has been waiting for all these years.”

  “Taking over the farm? You mean Gage is leaving Buffalo Valley?”

  Leta stared down at the steaming cup of tea. “He’ll stay nearby, I imagine, since he’ll need to work closely with Kevin over the next few years. But there’s a section of good farmland for sale south of here, not far from Devils Lake. Gage has had his eye on it for some time now. He’s never said anything, but I know he’d dearly love to buy it.”

  Lindsay cradled the teacup, the heat seeping into her palms. He hadn’t even left Buffalo Valley, and already she felt a sense of loss. She realized that so much of what she felt for the town was connected to her feelings for Gage. Although they often disagreed, that only seemed to heighten their attraction.

  “It was always understood that when the time came, Kevin would assume the farming operation and Gage would move on. He’s been counting on it for a number of years.”

  “But isn’t that rather selfish?” She didn’t mean to insult Gage, but was genuinely curious. Sometimes she simply didn’t understand what made people think or act the way they did. Over the past few months, she’d faced attitudes that seemed completely illogical to her. Why should Kevin be a farmer if that wasn’t what he wanted? Why wouldn’t Sarah marry Dennis when it was obvious to everyone that they were in love? And why did people in this town treat her like an outsider?

  “Selfish? Gage?” Leta repeated. “The last word I’d use to describe Gage is selfish. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him during the last twelve years. He always intended to farm his own land. Then John died, and our property was mortgaged to the hilt. Gage ran the farm after that, and he’s worked it to support us all. When Kevin takes over, he’ll be getting land that’s nearly free of debt, thanks to Gage.

  “It’s long past time Gage had his own life. I don’t fault him for that, and you shouldn’t, either.” Her hands nervously pushed wisps of hair from her face. “Kevin has a lot of years to pursue his dream, while Gage has put his entire life on hold waiting for his brother to take responsibility for the farm. It might sound a bit ridiculous to put it in these terms—but it’s Gage’s turn. Kevin knows this and accepts his duty the same way Gage did twelve years ago.”

  Lindsay had her answer. “In other words, it would help if I stopped encouraging Kevin to think about art school.”

  Leta averted her gaze. Her fingers smoothed the fringed edge of the placemat. “Plain speaking? Yes, it would help. I love my sons and I want what’s best for both of them. In a situation like this, I feel I need the wisdom of Solomon.”

  Lindsay felt an oppressive sense of disappointment. She’d seen for herself the look in Kevin’s eyes when she’d mentioned the art schools and the possibility of a scholarship. Talent shouldn’t be a source of pain to one so young.

  But she also understood what Leta had told her. Gage had sacrificed years of his life in order to support Kevin and his mother. He’d carried that burden long enough.

  “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by like this,” Leta said anxiously as she sipped her tea. “But I thought you should know.”

  “Yes,” Lindsay whispered. “I should.”

  “One last thing,” the older woman said. “Be patient with Gage. He can be thickheaded at times, but his heart is big.”

  Earlier, Lindsay had decided that one of them would need to make an overture toward reconciliation. This relationship was important to her. Gage was important to her. He was a complex man and she was only beginning to know him. So that probably meant the first move was up to her….

  Leta and Lindsay talked a few minutes longer about various people’s plan for New Year’s Eve. Almost everyone—including Gage—seemed to be going to Buffalo Bob’s. Tony Lammermann, Joe and Mark’s dad, played the fiddle, and Bob had coaxed him into playing for a dance that night. Leta and Hassie were getting together for dinner, but probably wouldn’t stay up until midnight. She invited Lindsay to join them if she had no other plans.

  When they’d finished their tea, Lindsay, with the able assistance of Mutt and Jeff, escorted Leta to the door. Standing at the window, she watched her friend walk toward Hansen’s Grocery. Her head full of their conversation, she turned her attention to housekeeping. She started by taking down and packing away the Christmas decorations. She didn’t have many; her apartment back home had been too small. Not only that, she’d had to be judicious when she moved and had left a lot behind. What she did have was precious to her.

  After carefully wrapping the decorations, she stored them in cardboard boxes, which she carried to the back bedroom, the room her grandmother had once used for sewing. The closet was narrow, and when she lifted the box to set it on the shelf above the rail, the corner ripped out a section of wallpaper.

  “Damn,” she muttered as she pushed the box into place.

  Turning on the light, she investigated the tear, disgusted with herself for being careless. But when she looked more closely, Lindsay realized that the space behind the wallpaper was empty. Someone had purposely papered over a hole in the wall. She suddenly went still. Someone had covered a space where the plaster had been cut away—perhaps to hide something. She hurried to find her flashlight.

  When she returned she was breathing hard. Hands shaking, she shone the light into the dark space—and illuminated a cigar box. Even before she reached for it, Lindsay knew that this box was what her grandmother had placed inside the fireplace brick all those years ago.

  * * *

  Since taking over the ownership of the 3 OF A KIND, Buffalo Bob had learned one important lesson about tending bar. Folks wanted to be greeted by a smiling, friendly face. His customers came in for cold beer and warm conversation.

  Some wanted a willing ear to listen to their troubles, their sorry lot in life, their cheating wives, the unfairness of it all. But under no circumstances did his customers want to hear his own litany of problems.

  Until recently, Buffalo Bob’s problems were few. He was financially sound, thanks to the Christmas play. For three nights in a row, he’d had lots of customers. The good business had continued throughout the Christmas season; in fact, he’d kept his decorations up, although they were looking a little limp now. Bob was definitely satisfied with life. Even during these hard times he’d showed his biggest profit to date. This year he’d actually be in the black, if he conveniently forgot to pay himself wages.

  His concerns had nothing to do with money and everything to do with Merrily. She’d been away a long time now, and Buffalo Bob was beginning to believe she wouldn’t be back.

  A week before Christmas, he’d gotten a card from her. She hadn’t told him where she was, but the smudged postmark said California. The sun shone in California even in the dead of winter. If Merrily was sunning herself on some beach, it wasn’t likely she’d be in any hurry to get back to him in North Dakota.

  Dammit all, he missed her.

  “What’re you looking so down in the mouth about?” Dennis Urlacher asked, stepping into the bar.

  “Not much,” Buffalo Bob told him. He’d been restocking the bar, his thoughts distracted. He knew without asking what Dennis usually ordered and placed a cold bottle of beer on the counter.

  “Want to see a menu?” Bob was hoping to increase his food sales and had made up a special appetizer menu that catered to his bar customers.

  “No, thanks.” Dennis took a swig of beer.

  “So, how was your Christmas?” Buffalo Bob asked. His own had been miserable without Merrily, even though he’d never given a rat’s ass about the holiday before.

  “It was all right,” Dennis answered without much enthusiasm.

  “You spent it with Joshua McKenna and his family?”

  “I did.”

  “You have people in the area, don’t you?”

  “My parents,” Dennis said, taking another swig of beer. “They weren’t pleased that I stayed in town.”

  “Frankly, you don’t look that happy about it yourself.” Buffalo Bob was getting fairly good at identifying a customer’s mood.

  “I got a problem with a teenager.”

  Buffalo Bob retreated a step and raised both hands. “Hey, man, I thought you were smarter than that. Teenage girls are jailbait.”

  “It’s not what you’re suggesting,” Dennis snapped

  “Whew.” Buffalo Bob was genuinely relieved. “Thought you had a thing going with Sarah?”

  “I do.”

  “Sarah’s got a teenage daughter, doesn’t she?” Buffalo Bob asked, thinking out loud. Yeah, that had to be it. Sarah’s kid was the problem.

  “Calla isn’t exactly fond of me,” Dennis muttered. “And that’s putting it mildly.”

  He didn’t need to say more. Bob got the picture. If it weren’t for Calla, Dennis and Sarah would probably be married by now.

  “Maybe you ought to spend some time with the kid,” Buffalo Bob said, trying to be helpful. “Try to make friends with her.”

  Dennis laughed. “And risk getting my head bit off? She doesn’t want me hanging around, doesn’t want anything to do with me. One postcard from her good-for-nothing father and she’s convinced her parents are about to remarry. That’s what she wants.”

  “Which naturally paints you as the bad guy.”

  Dennis answered with a nod, then stared off into space. “The thing is, I want to marry Sarah, want us to have kids ourselves.”

  It went without saying that as long as the teenage daughter put up a fuss, it wasn’t going to happen. Buffalo Bob didn’t envy Dennis, but then he had woman problems of his own.

  Dennis left soon afterward, and Brandon Wyatt walked into the bar. He looked like hell.

  “A beer, right?” He pointed both index fingers in the farmer’s direction.

  Brandon nodded, and Bob set a cold, frosty bottle on the counter. If and when Brandon wanted to talk, Buffalo Bob would be ready with a willing ear. From the way the farmer slouched on that stool, huddled over his beer, Bob could tell he was hurting.

  “Have a nice Christmas?” he asked casually.

  Brandon glanced up, irritation on his face. “Just great.”