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Thursday morning, as Maddy Washburn was sweeping the grocery store, she found a slip of paper that had apparently been someone's shopping list. She stared at the sheet and decided that whoever had written it was probably a man. The handwriting was brusque, impatient, and the items listed were without detail or description.

Maddy grinned. A few months ago she hadn't been sweeping floors; she'd been cleaning up the messes people made of their lives—and their children's. As a social worker for the state of Georgia, she'd worked long, difficult hours until she'd finally reached a point of emotional collapse.

Meeting the Hansens at Lindsay and Gage's wedding had felt like fate, and even if buying the grocery store was the biggest risk she'd taken in her life, it seemed right to her. Never mind that her mother considered the move too drastic, too outlandish.

The wedding was actually Maddy's second visit to BuffaloValley. A year earlier, she had accompanied Lindsay, who'd come to Buffalo Valley to see her grandparents' house. Like her friend, Maddy had been drawn to the town and she liked to think her encouragement had contributed to Lindsay's decision to accept the teaching job. Over the next twelve months, Lindsay had kept her updated in an exchange of newsy letters and e-mail messages. Long before she met them at the wedding, Maddy knew many of the townspeople from Lindsay's descriptions and anecdotes.

The Hansens had been eager to sell and the terms they'd offered were ideal. She'd spent two weeks with them, learned the ins and outs of the business—ordering and stocking shelves, bookkeeping, inventory control. She absorbed as much as she could. Then, while the Hansens packed up nearly forty years of memories, Maddy unpacked and began her new life.

The community had welcomed her, and she'd noticed none of the reserve Lindsay had originally experienced. Just about everyone she'd met seemed friendly. Gradually she was putting faces to names. But she had to admit the most interesting person she'd come across in the past few weeks was Jeb McKenna. In fact, looking at the discarded grocery list, she realized it could very well have been his.

What an intriguing person Jeb McKenna had turned out to be. People called him a recluse, and the description seemed accurate, since Calla had informed her it'd been nearly ten months since his last visit to town. Others referred to Jeb as a loner, a man with a chip on his shoulder, a cripple. Maddy could see that he most likely
was
a loner, and he did maintain a certain emotional distance. She'd met people like him before and didn't take offense, although she could understand how others might. But despite what she'd heard, she couldn't think of Jeb as a cripple.

She recalled their brief meeting. He'd been cordial enough although he'd obviously been thrown by her presence. Maddy had no idea what to think of him—except that he wasn't what she'd expected. Rumor had led her to believe he was a small, thin man, but quite the opposite was true. He was a good six feet, with a robust build and wide muscular shoulders. He resembled his sister somewhat, since they both had dark hair and deep-brown eyes. At first, Maddy and Jeb seemed capable only of staring at each other.

Oh, yes, finding her at the store had definitely unsettled him, and after he'd gone she'd found herself smiling at the haste with which he'd made his purchases and left. Almost as if he was afraid she might actually want to
talk
to him—or ask something of him that he was unwilling to give.

Crumpling the list, she was about to toss it in the waste-basket when she noticed the sharply slanted words.
TOILET PAPER.
Maddy didn't recall ringing up any toilet paper for Jeb McKenna. Now, that was a household item no one should be without. Since she was making a trial run out toward Juniper Creek, anyway, she decided to stop by the ranch. She'd bring a package or two of a premium brand, and if Jeb was available, she'd ask him about it.

Earlier that month, Maddy had hired Larry Loomis to work for her part-time during the afternoons. The burly high-school senior was a bit awkward around her, but she was grateful for his help. He'd been around the store often enough for her to feel confident that he could assist customers and handle the cash register for three or four hours. Eventually he'd be stepping in for her when she made her Thursday rounds. In fact, he'd volunteered to deliver groceries himself, if she wanted. Maddy had refused, welcoming the opportunity to get to know people in the surrounding areas.

Jeb McKenna's was one of the last houses on her route. The day was lovely, with just a hint of cooler weather to come. The huge sky was blue and cloudless. This was a true Indian summer, she thought, something she'd only read about before. Despite the warmth and mellow sunlight, Maddy sensed the weather was about to turn. It
was
October, after all and she could feel autumn in the wind, slight but constant. It shifted the long, browning grass on either side of the road as she drove by.

Autumn meant winter would make its appearance all too soon. So many people had happily described the horrors of endless days of blizzards and fierce cold, but it was difficult to think about the approach of winter on such a beautiful afternoon.

Maddy carefully checked the directions Jeb had given her to his ranch. She followed the road until she saw Highway Post Three, marking the miles. After a dip in the road, there was a road sign indicating a sharp curve ahead, with a speed limit of twenty-five miles per hour. His driveway was exactly two-tenths of a mile from that sign. His mailbox was on the opposite side of the road.

Maddy reached the entrance to his place and drove down a long dirt driveway, leaving a track of churned up dust behind her. She'd gone almost a mile before the house and barn came into view. The barn was massive and startlingly red against the blue, blue sky. To her disappointment, she didn't see any bison in the pasture beyond, where large dusty wallows dotted the landscape.

She parked in the yard and noticed a calf in a small pen outside the barn. When she realized it was a buffalo calf, she gave a little cry of excitement and walked directly over to it.

“Well, hello there,” she said as she approached. His woolly coat was a brilliant golden red, with two nubby horns on his forehead. Did that mean this was a male? She decided it probably did.

The calf nervously raised his head as she advanced and she slowed her pace, not wanting to frighten him. His eyes were large, a dark liquid brown. Patiently she moved to the fence, talking softly as she eased her way forward, although she didn't know how clearly the calf could see her, despite his beautiful eyes. From what she'd read, bison had notoriously bad sight, and she didn't want to startle the poor creature.

It took a few minutes before the calf accepted her presence. Once he had, she slipped one hand between the slats of the fence and stroked his neck. She'd never been this close to a buffalo and was so intent on what she was doing that she didn't hear Jeb's truck until he'd entered the yard.

“Hello,” she said, straightening as he climbed out of the vehicle and walked toward her. He resembled a cowboy straight out of the Wild West, she thought admiringly, complete with a wide-brimmed hat. She shaded her eyes as she stared up at him.

He touched the brim of his hat in greeting and showed no surprise at seeing her.

“I was in the neighborhood,” she said, then laughed at how corny that sounded. “Actually, I was. I did a dry run on the delivery route and I wanted to be sure I knew where your ranch was.”

He nodded.

“I hope you don't take this wrong, but when you were in the store last week, did you forget to buy toilet paper?”

His eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

Maddy was feeling more foolish by the minute. “I found a discarded list…I thought it might've been yours, and well, I remember packing what you bought and I didn't think you'd purchased any toilet paper.”

“You mean to say you brought some with you?” he asked.

“I did.” She nodded for emphasis. “It isn't the type of supply one wants to get low on.”

“True,” he agreed.

Maddy thought she saw a fleeting smile. But then—as if he was reluctant to feel amusement—he turned and headed toward the barn, limping as he went.

“Since I was coming by your place anyway, I thought I'd deliver it—the toilet paper, I mean. If that
was
your list,” she called out after him, thoroughly embarrassed now.

“It wasn't,” he assured her.

Maddy watched the calf for a few more minutes. During that time, Jeb walked out of the barn and toward the house.

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.