Page 47

He turned again, this time onto a dirt road. A large, weather-beaten sign said BRADLEY FARM, est. 1918.

I felt a strange knot in the pit of my stomach. One I hadn’t felt since the very first time, when Kyle had taken me to meet the other guys.

A big old farmhouse came into view. It was old construction, but well-kept. Freshly painted. Neatly trimmed.

“What’s the third thing?” I asked quickly.

Dakota delivered his biggest country-boy smile. Somehow it seemed more appropriate right here, right now, than any of the thousand other times I’d seen it.

“Don’t eat any of my daddy’s cooking.”

We exited the truck and no less than three dogs came running up to us. Two were big and yellow, one small and black. A pang of sorrow struck my heart as I missed Sarge. I was pretty sure he was enjoying his sleepover at Cindy’s though.

“Rutger!”

The bigger — and older — looking dog was going absolutely wild on Dakota. The way it kept jumping and licking and wagging its tail would’ve knocked over any normal-sized person.

“Honey!”

I smiled and stood back as a short, wizened woman with silver-streaked hair ran over and threw her arms around her son. I’d seen photos before, and in every one of them Dakota’s mother looked nothing like him. She was just too tiny! But now that we were here…

In person, I could see a vague resemblance. It was in the jawline, the nose… the forehead even. They had the same structure, if not the same face. Dakota hugged his mother as gently as a great bear might show restraint with a tiny cub. His arms enveloped her. Her smile was limitless.

“And you must be… Sammara?”

I turned, and what could only be Dakota’s father was holding his hand out to greet me. I pushed it away and hugged him, long and hard. I wasn’t about to start any relationship with my future in-laws on some lame handshake.

“He said you were pretty,” his father smiled, looking me over. “But he didn’t say—”

“Come inside!” his mother interjected quickly. She was looking me over as well, but the way she sized me up was wholly different. “It’s gonna be raining soon anyway.”

A few minutes later we were in the cutest country kitchen, with big windows looking out over a vast, reaching field. I could see chicken coops. A few cows, grazing lazily. And in the distance, fenced off pastures — filled with dozens, maybe hundreds of sheep.

“Would you like a drink, son?”

His father handed Dakota a beer before he even answered the question. He reached for another, looking to me amiably, but his mother had already thrust a glass of tap water my way.

“Here, dear,” she said with sugary sweetness. “You must be thirsty.”

“Thank you,” I smiled, but she never saw it. She’d already turned her attention back to Dakota, sitting him down at what I assumed was ‘his spot’ at the kitchen table. She had barely stopped talking since we arrived, asking him a million questions about a million things, while completely ignoring me in the process.

So… this is how it’s gonna be…

My gaze fell back on Dakota’s father and our eyes met.

Oh wow. He has his eyes!

He really did! I found myself staring back at the exact same pair of innocent blue eyes I’d grown to love so much. He had the same boyish grin, too. The same soft, dirty-blond hair that flopped to one side… only his was much grayer, even if it wasn’t any less thin.

“You’re staying through to the New Year?” his mother was asking.

“Depends,” said Dakota.

“On what?” She sounded almost offended. “It’s bad enough you missed Christmas! We didn’t get a phone call, we didn’t get a card…” She looked to me as she said that part, almost as if deferring blame. “Imagine, not even calling on Christm

as! Every one of your brothers called me bright and early! Not to mention Casey and Jacob, and…”

She trailed off, listing what I knew to be her grandchildren — and Dakota’s many nephews. Dakota was the youngest of five boys. He had four older brothers, all of them farmers. All of them living within an hour or two of Sioux City.