Dakota Home

Gathering her nerve, she asked, “Do you mind if I stay awhile? With him?” She pointed at the calf.

“Suit yourself,” came his brusque response, as though he didn’t care one way or the other. He disappeared into the house.

Maddy didn’t need it spelled out—he didn’t welcome her company. Okay, fine. Standing on the bottom board of the fence, she rested her arms over the top and watched the calf. On such a glorious day, she was in no hurry to get back to the store. This was her first real break since she’d arrived.

Ten minutes later, just as she was about to climb off the fence, Jeb called from the house. “You interested in a cup of coffee?”

“Please,” she said, delighted by the invitation.

“How do you take it?” he asked, standing at the door.

“Sugar,” she said.

“Me, too.” He went back inside.

She walked toward the porch, and he met her there with a mug. He handed it to her and she sank down on the top step. He stood, leaning casually against the railing.

“How long have you raised buffalo?” she asked.

“Bison,” he corrected. “American bison. Even though almost everyone calls them buffalo.” He paused. “I started the herd about three and a half years ago.” He stared straight ahead, obviously uncomfortable making polite conversation.

“Why?” When he frowned, she quickly added, “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m sincere. What made you decide to raise bison instead of cattle?”

He snorted a laugh. “Well, the potential for buffalo is virtually untapped. The meat is better, higher in protein and lower in fat. People have been saying for a long time that buffalo tastes the way beef wished it did.”

“So you sell them for meat?”

“I don’t raise them as pets.”

“No… I suppose not.”

He went on to explain that to date, not a single person had ever had an allergic reaction to buffalo meat, including people who suffer from allergies to other red meat. No one was sure exactly why, but Jeb thought it was because buffalo were “organically” raised. They weren’t subjected to chemicals, hormones or growth drugs, or force-fed in high-density pens.

It was clear from the way he spoke that he knew and respected the buffalo and although it might have been fanciful, Maddy suspected he somehow identified with these animals, fighting their way back from extinction.

“Another thing,” he said. “The meat sells for up to three times the price of beef.” He continued, warming to his subject. “Buffalo are hardier, need less care and have a reproductive life that’s three to four times that of cattle.” Abruptly, he looked away. “I didn’t mean to start lecturing you,” he muttered. “Getting back to your original question, though, I do sell some of my animals for meat. But most of them are sold as breeding stock.” He gave her a quizzical glance. “This is way more than you wanted to know, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” she assured him, thanking him with a smile. “I find this fascinating.”

Not wanting to outstay her welcome, Maddy made a point of glancing at her watch. “I’d better leave,” she said, returning her empty mug as she got to her feet. “Thanks again for the information on buffalo.”

He ducked his head, acknowledging her words.

“I make my first official stop next Thursday if you’ll get me your list,” she told him.

“Fine.” He stayed where he was on the porch as she walked toward her parked car.

“Good seeing you again, Jeb,” she said, then climbed into her Bronco.

He might not have enjoyed himself, but Maddy had. He was a difficult sort of person, but that didn’t bother her. During the past few years, working in social services, she’d dealt with more than her share of unfriendly types. Jeb McKenna was Mr. Personality compared to some of them.

She started her engine and put the car in Reverse and was about to wave goodbye when she noticed he’d gone back inside.

It seemed odd to be having a date with her own husband, Joanie Wyatt mused as she nursed her two-month-old son. Jason Leon Wyatt had been born at the end of July in Fargo, when Joanie was separated from Brandon.

Shortly after Thanksgiving a year earlier, she’d left her husband, taking their two children with her. They’d reconciled some months afterward, but the time apart had taught them both some crucial lessons. Joanie had postponed telling Brandon about the pregnancy, and it was the news of the baby that had forced them to talk to each other again. Brandon had been with her when Jason was born, and for a while it looked as if everything was going to work out. Joanie didn’t want a divorce; she believed Brandon didn’t, either.

While they were separated, Joanie learned that she genuinely loved her husband, but at the same time she couldn’t go back to the farmhouse, fearing they’d slide into their old destructive patterns.

After Jason’s birth, they decided that Joanie and the kids would return to Buffalo Valley. Only they’d rent a house in town while Brandon continued to live on the farm. So far, things had fallen into place even better than they’d hoped. The house on Willow Street had belonged to an uncle of Brandon’s who’d left town when the equipment dealership closed. The house, like so many others, had sat empty for five years. He’d been willing to let them use it free of cost, preferring that someone live there rather than leave it empty any longer.

Sage and Stevie were pleased to be back in school with their friends. Despite several visits home, both had missed their father dreadfully during the months away. The situation now wasn’t ideal, but Joanie saw real hope for her marriage.

Calla Stern arrived five minutes before Brandon was due to pick up Joanie. With shrieks of delight, Sage and Stevie raced toward the teenager. This evening out was as much a treat for her children as it was for her. Jason, however, would travel with her and Brandon—first to dinner, then to the counseling session in Grand Forks. He was too young to be left with anyone else for more than an hour or so.

Brandon was right on time.

“Hi,” Joanie greeted him as he waited in the hallway, thinking it was a little silly to be this shy around the man who’d fathered her three children. After nine months apart, plus two months of counseling, they were still a bit awkward with each other. A bit unsure.

“Daddy!” Sage dashed in from the living room. The nine-year-old threw herself into her father’s arms.

Stevie followed. Brandon crouched down and hugged his older children. “You be good for Calla now, understand?”

Sage nodded.

“Do we have to?” Stevie asked, laughing at his own humor.

“Yes, you do,” Calla answered. “Otherwise you know what’ll happen.” She grabbed the boy and wrapped her arm around his neck, rubbing her knuckles over the top of his head. Stevie gave out a shriek of mock terror and promised, between giggles, to be a model child.

Joanie was smiling as Brandon led her to the truck parked at the curb. He hadn’t even started the engine when he asked, “How much longer are we going to have to see the counselor?”

“Are you complaining already?” she asked.

“Joanie, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she insisted. “We’ve only been to six sessions. I’ve found Dr. Geist to be very helpful, haven’t you?”

After a moment’s silence, he said, “Not particularly.”

This was news to Joanie. “Why not?”

He took even longer to answer this time, long enough to drive through town and turn onto the highway, heading east to Grand Forks. “Dr. Geist is a woman,” he muttered.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Joanie demanded, unable to hide her annoyance.

“Plenty,” he shouted, just as angry. “She thinks the same way you do. The only reason I agreed to these sessions was so we could get back together. I didn’t know I was going to be expected to sit there for an hour every week to have my ego demolished.”

Joanie felt shocked by what she was hearing. “No one’s bashing you.”