Here, as a special bonus for readers of Debbie Macomber’s DAKOTA series, is an exclusive short story.

You’ll see that the events in The Farmer Takes a Wife actually pre-date those in the trilogy stories—Dakota Born, Dakota Home and Always Dakota. You’ll recognise a number of places in Buffalo Valley, like Hassie’s shop and the Hansens’ grocery store (before Maddie took over, of course). And you’ll recognise the warmth, truth and lightheartedness you’ve come to expect from Debbie’s books.

Enjoy this brief journey to Buffalo Valley the way it was before Lindsay Snyder and Maddy Washburn arrived!

Make time for friends. Make time for

Debbie

Macomber

CEDAR COVE

16 Lighthouse Road

204 Rosewood Lane

311 Pelican Court

44 Cranberry Point

50 Harbor Street

6 Rainier Drive

74 Seaside Avenue

8 Sandpiper Way

92 Pacific Boulevard

1022 Evergreen Place

1105 Yakima Street

A Merry Little Christmas

(featuring 1225 Christmas Tree Lane and 5-B Poppy Lane)

BLOSSOM STREET

The Shop on Blossom Street

A Good Yarn

Susannah’s Garden

(previously published as Old Boyfriends)

Back on Blossom Street

(previously published as Wednesdays at Four)

Twenty Wishes

Summer on Blossom Street

Hannah’s List

A Turn in the Road

Thursdays at Eight

Christmas in Seattle

Falling for Christmas

Angels at Christmas

A Mother’s Gift

A Mother’s Wish

Happy Mother’s Day

Be My Valentine

THE MANNINGS

The Manning Sisters

The Manning Brides

The Manning Grooms

Summer in Orchard Valley

THE DAKOTAS

Dakota Born

Dakota Home

Always Dakota

The Farmer Takes a Wife

(Exclusive short story)

About the Author

DEBBIE MACOMBER is a number one New York Times bestselling author. Her recent books include 44 Cranberry Point, 50 Harbor Street, 6 Rainier Drive and Hannah’s List. She has become a leading voice in women’s fiction worldwide and her work has appeared on every major bestseller list. There are more than a hundred million copies of her books in print. For more information on Debbie and her books, visit www.DebbieMacomber.com.

The Farmer

Takes a Wife

Debbie Macomber

www.mirabooks.co.uk

One

Dave Stafford needed a wife, and he wasn’t in any position to be choosy. He was thirty-seven and lived alone, more than thirty miles from the closest town. Buffalo Valley, North Dakota, was nothing to brag about, either. It had been a thriving community once upon a time, but not now, not with the virtual collapse of the farm economy. A lot of people had been forced to leave Buffalo Valley, abandoning homes and property, in search of jobs.

Dave did all right, though. He owned three thousand acres and grew soybeans, sunflowers and wheat. The work was hard and his days were long, which didn’t leave much time for seeking female companionship. Compared to those pretty boys in magazine ads, Dave figured he wasn’t much to look at; however, he also figured that as a prospective husband, he wasn’t such a bad bargain. He was solvent and reasonably successful. He paid his bills on time and was clean (regular baths), healthy (all that fresh air) and without serious vices. None of that sounded very exciting, and he suspected it might not be enough of an endorsement to attract a woman, but it was all he had to offer.

That was the reason he’d placed a personal ad in the Farmer’s Newsletter, a national publication. The wording hadn’t been easy. He’d spent almost a week writing and rewriting the few short lines, and in the end, he felt the direct approach seemed best and that was what he’d sent.

LONELY FARMER SEEKS WIFE OF CHILD-BEARING AGE. PREFER NON-SMOKER. MUST LIKE COUNTRY LIFE. I’M HONEST, FAIR AND DECENT. FOURTH-GENERATION FARMER AND PROUD OF IT.

He’d tried to fit in a line that stated he wasn’t interested in a woman who’d had parts of her body pierced or tattooed, but couldn’t think of a way to say it. The ad had appeared in the singles column a month earlier, and despite the effort that had gone into writing it, he’d received only one response.

One. Her name was Emma Fowler, and she was a thirty-year-old woman from Seattle. She hadn’t mentioned how she’d happened upon the ad, but considering everything else he still had to learn about her, that didn’t seem important. Her job—routing delivery trucks for a produce supplier—might have something to do with it. He could picture a copy of the Farmer’s Newsletter lying around the lunchroom and maybe that was how she’d found it.

What was important was that they were going to meet that very day, late in the afternoon since her plane was getting into Grand Forks around four. Dave’s stomach had been tied up in knots all week as he anticipated this dinner date. Well, he supposed he could refer to it as a “date.” He’d shaved, had his mother take a pair of scissors to his hair and ordered a new shirt. This was it—as cleaned-up as he got. He’d sent Emma his photograph, taken for this purpose by a friend, another farmer named Gage Sinclair. Dave had been standing in front of his farmhouse, which looked a little shabby in the bright light of an April morning. He was six feet tall with wide shoulders and a sun-reddened neck, and he’d been wearing a cap that covered his thick dark hair and shaded his brown eyes. She’d mailed him her photograph, too. She was fairly ordinary in appearance, a little on the short side, but that didn’t bother him. Her hair was dark blond and even from a distance he could tell that her eyes were a pretty shade of green. He wasn’t looking for some stunning beauty—and didn’t expect to find one. What he wanted was a woman with simple tastes, someone who could appreciate quiet, who didn’t need to be constantly entertained and wasn’t afraid of a little solitude. Someone who shared his values, understood the importance of family and community. A woman who’d sit beside him on the porch and listen to birdsong at dawn, watch the sunset, breathe in the good, rich smell of freshly turned earth. Simple pleasures.

“You ready?” His mother checked him over one last time.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She clearly considered this meeting significant—enough to drive all the way in from Dickinson, where she lived with her sister. He knew she’d be waiting for him when he returned, too. Emotionally, she seemed to have a lot invested in this; she’d been a widow for years and Dave was her only child, and she definitely felt it was time he got married. In fact, she’d been the one who’d brought him the Farmer’s Newsletter and suggested he place an ad.

“If you bring her back to the farm …” she said, following him out the door.

“That would be only fair, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” she said eagerly. “I’ve got the guest room ready. If she agrees to marry you, then everything’s set.”

He nodded. A month’s courtship through letters and a few phone calls wasn’t much, but it would have to do. As a precaution, he’d requested references and several letters of recommendation with regard to her background and personality; he’d provided the same. She’d checked his references and he’d checked hers. If they both decided to go through with this once they met, they’d get married the following week. He’d already made arrangements for a quiet ceremony in a chapel near Grand Forks.

“I’ll head out now,” he said, knowing it was early. He’d have a couple of extra hours when he got to the city, but he didn’t mind. He was sure he could find errands to do, stores to visit. Besides, he was a man who prized punctuality.

His mother hugged him and stayed on the porch while he pulled the truck around from its usual parking space behind the barn. Waving vigorously, she continued to watch as he drove off. Dave tapped his horn in farewell, then concentrated on the day ahead.

“Be everything you say you are, Emma Fowler,” he whispered.

Two hours later, Dave arrived in Grand Forks and made a point of locating the restaurant first. The place he’d chosen served Italian cuisine. He didn’t eat out often enough to vouch for it, but in one of her letters, Emma had said Italian was her favorite, and he wanted her to know he paid attention to the things she’d written. He’d read and reread her letters dozens of times, until a picture of her had taken shape in his mind—a picture of the kind of person she was. So far, he liked her.

He’d offered to meet her plane, but Emma had said no. At first that left him feeling a bit unsettled; only later did he realize she didn’t want to be dependent on him if things didn’t work out the way they both appeared to want. She had a reservation for a rental car and directions to the restaurant, where they were supposed to meet at six. Even after completing his errands, Dave had enough time to sit outside for almost an hour, his stomach tight with nerves.

He finally went and chose a table at the far end of the room so he could see everyone who entered. He’d only been seated five minutes when Emma walked in. She stared directly at him, and he could tell she recognized him instantly.

Dave got to his feet. The picture she’d sent looked nothing like her and he frowned, even more nervous now. He couldn’t imagine why she’d purposely misled him. The photo she’d mailed had revealed a rather ordinary woman with dishwater hair. Yet the woman who walked toward him was anything but ordinary. The word that tumbled through his mind was beautiful. Emma was a beautiful woman.

“You must be Dave,” she said with a smile that seemed completely effortless.

“And you’re Emma.” Still in something of a stupor, he walked around the table and held out her chair.

“How was your flight?” he asked once he was back in his seat.

She reached for her napkin and smoothed it across her lap. “Wonderful. Have you been waiting long?”

“No …” He wanted to say more, to make some additional small talk, but his mouth didn’t seem willing to cooperate. “You’re … you’re not what I expected.”

She stiffened noticeably. “What do you mean?”

“The photo …”

“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that.”

“You purposely chose an unflattering one.”

She nodded.

“But … why?”

“Because there’s more to me than meets the eye. I didn’t want you to be swayed by appearances…. I wanted you to know me, the real me.” Her gaze flew to his, but then she quickly averted it. Dave wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he guessed there was something she hadn’t told him, something she wouldn’t until they met. He held his breath, wondering.

Before either could speak, the waitress approached their table. Dave ordered a bottle of wine; he had the feeling he was going to need it. While they waited, they each studied the menu, although Dave didn’t have much of an appetite.

Once the wine had been opened, approved and poured, they relaxed a bit.

“Would you like my assessment of you?” Emma asked.

Dave took a gulp of wine. “Please.”

“You’re exactly what you led me to believe. Your picture said it all.”

The picture. Dave felt a little embarrassed. He hadn’t wanted to deceive Emma, but he wasn’t going to discount what he had to offer, either.

“Your photo showed a man who’s proud of who he is and what he does. A man who understands hard work. Your ad said you were decent and honest, and for what it’s worth, your photograph and letters confirm it.”

“My picture said all that?” She held his gaze and he asked, “So, what was your picture supposed to tell me?” He couldn’t help being curious, since she’d deliberately set out to delude him.

“Mine?” she blurted, then reached for her wineglass. “Well, for one thing, it said I’m not as trusting as I once was. It said … I had something to hide.”

“And do you?” Might as well lay it on the line now, he decided.

She took a long time answering, long enough for Dave to fear this entire episode had been a waste of time.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I have a three-year-old daughter. I was as honest as I could be about everything else, but I have to tell you—I come as part of a package deal. It’s me and Jamie, and if you can accept the two of us, I’ll marry you.”

Two

Today, the twenty-second of April, was Emma Fowler’s wedding day. She hadn’t realized she would agree to marry Dave Stafford until she’d actually uttered the words. Her friends said she was crazy and Emma couldn’t really argue; marrying a man she’d only met the week before did sound certifiable.

She’d found the Farmer’s Newsletter at the rural feed store where she’d taken Jamie to look at puppies. It’d been a Saturday afternoon, and they’d gone for a drive in the country. She’d read the brief, straightforward ad, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, Dave Stafford’s words had struck a chord within her. The idea of contacting this North Dakota farmer had slowly but surely taken hold in her mind.

Life in Seattle, raising Jamie alone, was difficult and often hectic. She raced to the day-care center every morning, carrying a sleeping Jamie into the building, whispering goodbye and then rushing off to work. By the end of her shift she was tired, depleted. All she wanted was to get home, get dinner on the table, and spend whatever time she could with her daughter. During those evenings, she often sat at Jamie’s bedside, her heart aching, thinking this was no way to raise a child.

She’d once dreamed of being a photographer, of having her pictures appear on calendars and in magazines. In fact, it was in a photography class that she’d met Gary Simpson. He was handsome and talented and he’d made a point of pursuing her. They’d gotten involved, more involved than Emma intended, and then he’d abruptly broken it off without explanation, disappearing from the photography class, refusing to return her calls. When Emma learned she was pregnant, Gary had reluctantly confessed that he was married and in couples’ counseling with his wife. Left reeling from the shock, Emma changed the course of her own life. She dropped out of the class, worked as much overtime as she could and prepared to be a single mother.

Her own mother had died of ovarian cancer when Emma was twenty; her father had quickly remarried and now lived in Arizona. Her only brother had a fishing trawler in the waters off Alaska. As a single mother, struggling to do what was right for her daughter, Emma had never felt more alone. There were men, plenty of them, interested in dating her, but having been burned once, Emma was less trusting, less open, less willing to make herself vulnerable again.

As the next few years slipped past, Emma faced a simple truth. She didn’t want to date. The weekends with Jamie were precious, and since she had no choice but to leave her daughter every day, it didn’t seem right to waste the little time they did have together on relationships that always went nowhere.

Dave’s honesty had impressed Emma and she’d been particularly moved by the word he’d used to describe himself during one of their conversations. Lonely. It resonated with her. Although she lived in a large metropolis, Emma was lonely, too. She had her child and her friends, but she didn’t have a companion to share her life with, a lover she could trust with her deepest truths. Her heart had been shattered and she still felt used, emotionally wounded.

She often thought of a story she’d once heard about her great-grandparents. The two families had immigrated to the American midwest from Germany at the turn of the last century. Since their son and daughter were of marriageable age, their parents had arranged for them to meet, and the two of them had subsequently agreed that they could make a life together. Then, without courtship or fanfare, they’d married a week later. Their union had lasted nearly sixty years and produced eight children. They’d worked hard to ensure that their marriage would succeed and by all accounts it had been a contented one.

So, remembering the story of her great-grandparents, Emma had answered Dave Stafford’s advertisement for a wife. Lonely farmer seeks wife. Lonely single mother seeks husband. It was a good match … she hoped.

A knock sounded on the bedroom door and Emma whirled around, staring at it.

“Emma,” Dave called called softly. “Time to go.”

“I’m … nearly ready,” she called back. She reached for the small bouquet of wildflowers Dave’s mother had picked for her that morning, then resolutely opened the bedroom door. Dave and his mother were waiting for her at the foot of the stairs and they escorted her to Mrs. Stafford’s car—a ten-year-old sedan—which was parked in front of the farmhouse. Emma had sat on the porch and watched Dave wash and wax it the night before, touched by the sweet hopefulness of this gesture.

From here they would drive into Grand Forks to meet the plane that was bringing Jamie and her godmother to North Dakota. Because of the complexity of the arrangements, both here and in Seattle, Emma had come to North Dakota two days before her daughter. As soon as she arrived—to stay for good—she’d been installed in the guest bedroom. Now she sat in the car beside her husband-to-be, on the way to her own wedding.

Three hours later, the wedding took place in a small church on the outskirts of Grand Forks. The minister was a longtime friend of Dave’s family. Jamie, uncertain and cranky, clung to Emma’s skirt and whined. During the ceremony, Dave bent down and picked her up and held her in his arms. To Emma’s astonishment, Jamie didn’t squirm or cry. Instead, she stared at Dave transfixed, as though she understood that this stranger, this man now holding her, would play a major role in her life.

Afterward they all went to dinner at the same Italian restaurant where Dave and Emma had met a week earlier. Following the meal, Sandy, Jamie’s godmother and Emma’s closest friend, left for Minneapolis to visit her brother.

On the drive to the farm, Dave’s mother sat with Jamie in the back seat, while Dave and Emma again rode up front. They didn’t seem to have much to say to each other. As soon as they reached home, Dave’s mother loaded up her car, kissed them goodbye and promptly left.

For the first time, the three of them were alone.

“I’ll get Jamie ready for bed,” Emma said after Dave had carried in the suitcases. The child was exhausted and fell asleep halfway through her favorite story.

Dave was waiting for her when she came downstairs. “She went to sleep okay?” he asked.

“No problem at all.”

“Good.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as if he wasn’t sure what else to do with them. “I’ve got some errands to run in the morning if you’d care to come along. I’d like you to see Buffalo Valley.”

Emma hesitated.

“The town’s not much, but there’s a grocery there and a great little pharmacy. I’ll treat Jamie to an ice cream soda. Hassie Knight makes the best sodas I’ve ever tasted.”

“I’d like that,” she told him. They’d spent nearly a week becoming accustomed to the idea of marriage, of living together. She’d stayed at his house that first night—after their meeting at the Italian restaurant—and they’d talked endlessly; then she’d gone home to Seattle to make all the necessary plans. But every night that week, they’d talked for hours on the phone.

Now they were married, and there was only silence, an awkward silence that stretched between them.

“I was thinking …”

“Maybe we should …”

Nervous laughter followed, and they both hesitated. Finally Dave spoke. “How about a game of cribbage?” he asked politely.

The previous evening, he’d taught her how to play. Emma remembered her grandparents had loved it, but as a child, she’d never gotten the hang of the counting system.

“Sure,” she said, willing to do anything that would relax some of the tension they were obviously both feeling.

They sat across from each other and as he dealt the cards, Emma noticed the plain gold band on his left hand. Her gaze dropped to her own wedding wing, equally plain. It was still hard to believe that the man who sat across from her was her husband. She was married. This was for life, and it was for real. They were husband and wife.

“Fifteen-two, fifteen-four and a pair is six,” Dave said as he moved his peg forward.

Emma spread out her hand for him to see. “I only have …” She paused checking her cards a second time. “Fifteen-two, right?”

“Look again,” he advised.

She recounted. “Fifteen-four,” she said, then saw an additional two points. “Fifteen-six.”

“Right.” He grinned broadly, and Emma grinned back. He hadn’t pointed out her error to her, but let her see it for herself. Emma appreciated that. In fact, there was a great deal to appreciate about Dave Stafford. She’d had a revelation of this during the middle of their wedding service when he reached down for Jamie, taking her daughter in his arms and holding her between them as they repeated their vows. This simple action reassured her that the vows Dave spoke included Jamie. He’d promised to love her, to care for her, to be her daddy.

“It’s late and we’ve both had a long day,” Dave announced when she covered a yawn.

Emma nodded. Until that moment she hadn’t realized how truly tired she was. After all, it wasn’t every day she became someone’s wife!

She waited for him as, one by one, he turned out the lights. Together they climbed the stairs, illuminated by a single lamp that cast a soft glow about them. Emma paused outside the bedroom she’d slept in last night, where Jamie rested now. “Thank you, Dave, for a wonderful day. A special day …”

He frowned. “You aren’t sleeping in there, are you?”

Emma frowned, too, a little shocked by his question. They hadn’t discussed this, and she hadn’t planned to share his bed. Not yet, anyway. Not tonight. “You don’t honestly expect me to sleep with you?”

In response he gave a small, soft laugh. “You’re my wife now. Expecting might be putting it a little strongly, but, yes, I was hoping you would …”

Three

Dave worried about Emma’s reaction to Buffalo Valley; he wanted her to like the town but he wasn’t sure she would. As was his habit, he’d been up since dawn, had the coffee brewing and the farm animals fed before Emma woke up. She came downstairs in her housecoat and slippers, the little girl at her side.

“Mornin’,” he said matter-of-factly, a bit shy. He wasn’t used to seeing a woman in her housecoat, even if she was his wife.

“Good morning,” Emma murmured as she helped herself to a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Jamie,” he said earnestly.

The child gave him a sleepy grin, and he smiled back. Along with everything else, he worried about her reaction to him and was pleasantly surprised by how willingly she allowed him into her small world.

Emma joined him at the table. “About last night,” she whispered, then stopped to clear her throat.

He nodded. “I wouldn’t have forced you,” he said. “And I never will. I want you to understand that. I was just hoping …”

“I know … or I should’ve known. And I want you to understand that … well, when the time seems right I’ll be your wife in every way.”

“And I’ll be your husband in every way.”

They shared a smile and he felt as if they’d successfully crossed their first hurdle.

Emma turned to her daughter. “We’re going for a ride this morning,” she told Jamie.

“Into Buffalo Valley,” Dave added.

The little girl clapped her hands, obviously delighted.

“Does the grocery sell film?” Emma asked as they headed toward the car.

“If not, the pharmacy will.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take some pictures of the farm.”

Dave assumed she wanted to take a few snapshots to send her family. Although she’d contacted her father and brother about the wedding, neither had bothered to attend the ceremony. They’d both sent token congratulations but neither had done more than that. She’d made an obvious effort to hide her disappointment and offered excuses for her family’s lack of interest, but Dave could see that their indifference had hurt Emma. Earlier, she’d let it slip that her father had only seen Jamie once, and then very briefly. Her brother had visited her in Seattle a few times, but had revealed no great interest in the child, either.

During the drive into town, Emma taught Jamie the words to Farmer in the Dell, and soon the three of them were singing together. He felt self-conscious about the second verse, in which the farmer takes a wife, but was determined not to show it. He suggested She’ll be Comin’ Around the Mountain next and Jamie threw herself into the “toot-toots” with great vigor. He noted that as they arrived in Buffalo Valley, the song faded from Emma’s lips.

Dave tried to picture the town through her eyes, tried to imagine seeing it for the first time. He had to admit it was a stark, sad little place, with boarded up storefronts, cracked sidewalks, abandoned homes and lives. Years earlier, it’d been a thriving farm town, filled with people who had hopes and dreams for the future. In the midsixties, the high school had won the state football championship; Dave doubted they even had a team these days.

“That’s the grocery over there,” he said, pointing to Hansen’s on Main Street. “It doesn’t look like much, but they should have everything on your list.”

“I’m sure they will,” Emma said and put on a brave smile. She didn’t mention what she thought of the town, but the expression on her face told him all he needed to know.

Dave ran over to Joshua McKenna’s Fix-It and Antiques Store while Emma did the grocery shopping. He found her chatting with Marta Hansen when he finished loading the small engine Joshua had repaired for him.

“I didn’t know you were married!” Marta said, eyes narrowed. “And you kept it a secret …” She seemed affronted at the thought that he might have wanted to keep his private life private. “I don’t—”

“Congratulations,” Jacob interrupted, joining his wife.

Jamie raced up and down the stores aisles, which were sadly empty. “I don’t suppose you heard the news about Eloise Patten,” Marta said, frowning at her husband. “She’s dead.”

“The schoolteacher,” Jacob elaborated for Emma’s benefit.

“It means the death of this town, too. We all know what’ll happen when the school closes down,” Marta said grimly.

“No one said anything about closing the school,” Jacob pointed out, glancing apologetically toward Dave and Emma.

“Not yet,” Marta said. “Just wait and see. That’s the problem with people in this town,” she continued, shaking her head. “Where do they think we’re going to get another teacher? Who on earth would move here? I can’t understand why no one’s willing to admit the truth. Buffalo Valley is as good as dead.”

On that discouraging note, Dave quickly ushered Emma and Jamie outside, sorry he’d taken Emma to the grocery first. A better choice would have been Knight’s Pharmacy. Hassie was always stalwart and usually cheerful and would present a more optimistic look at the community.

Dave made the introductions as he lifted Jamie onto the stool at the soda fountain.

“Heard you found yourself a wife,” Hassie said, beaming them a welcoming smile. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Stafford—Emma.” She gestured expansively. “Sodas are on the house.”

“How sweet,” Emma said, responding with obvious pleasure to Hassie’s generosity.

“Welcome to Buffalo Valley.”

“Thank you,” Emma said, smiling at Dave. “It’s good to be here.”

“This town could use more children,” Hassie added, plopping a maraschino cherry on Jamie’s soda. Jamie squealed with excitement and immediately grabbed for the bright red fruit.

“You talked to Gage Sinclair lately?” Hassie asked.

“Not lately.” Dave knew what Hassie was really asking and it had nothing to do with sharing farm news. What she was suggesting was that Dave tell his friend about his good fortune in finding a wife, since Gage was interested in marriage, too. Somehow Dave couldn’t see him placing an ad, the way he’d done. But then he’d been surprised at his own willingness to try this. A man had to reach a certain point of desperation, he suspected. And he’d reached it a few months earlier, when he realized he was almost forty, and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life alone. Glancing at the woman beside him, he was glad he’d found the courage to follow through with the ad.

They left Buffalo Valley an hour later. Jamie fell asleep in the back seat and they rode in silence for several miles.

“Is Buffalo Valley going to die?” Emma asked as they drove by field after field of greening wheat.

Dave shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“They need a teacher?”

“Yes. The town may not survive without one, but my guess is someone will step forward and take the job.”

“I hope you’re right,” she murmured, growing thoughtful again.

Dave wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt so confident; perhaps it was because his own view of the future had grown more positive.

They arrived back at the house, and a few minutes later Emma had loaded her camera with film. Together they put away the groceries, and then Dave gave Jamie a ride around the yard in the wheelbarrow. Afterward, he left the child sitting on the ground nearby, digging idly in the dirt and watching her mother.

Emma took more pictures than he’d ever seen anyone take, holding the camera in different positions and at varying distances from her subjects. Standing eye to eye with a sunflower, she must have snapped a dozen photographs of that alone. He couldn’t imagine what she intended to do with them all, but he enjoyed seeing her pleasure as she worked.

He went to the barn for a while, carrying the repaired engine, which was for a small generator he kept there. When he returned, she was still engrossed in taking her photographs.

“It’s been almost three years since I did this,” she said happily, focusing on him and quickly clicking off a number of frames.

“You obviously know your way around a camera,” he remarked in a good-natured way, although he felt self-conscious about being photographed.

“I studied photography. At one time I thought I’d be able to sell my pictures.” She paused. “This used to be very important to me. I haven’t mentioned it yet … but I’d like photography to be part of my life again.”

“I’d like that, too,” he murmured, wanting to encourage her.

Emma smiled. “I’d better get lunch ready,” she said, then surprised him by kissing his cheek.

So far, they’d shared casual kisses, nothing passionate. Dave wasn’t sure what they were waiting for. He’d vowed that he’d allow the physical side of their relationship to develop naturally. He didn’t want to rush Emma, but by the same token he was a man and they were married.

“Emma?” he said and reached for her hand, stopping her.

He could see in her eyes that she knew what he was asking.

Without another word, she was in his arms and she’d raised her face to his. Dave felt the kiss all the way to the soles of his feet. Her mouth was warm and moist, the kiss deep, probing … wonderful. They broke apart, stared at each other, then came together again like the lovers they fully intended to be. Dave could barely believe the intensity of desire that flashed through him.

“Emma, sweet Emma.”

“Oh, Dave … oh … oh, I didn’t expect—”

“Me, neither.”

“It’s still early … We’ve hardly been married twenty-four hours.”

“We’re married,” he cried, laughing and eager. “What more do you want?” He dropped a brief kiss on her lips. “Listen, if Jamie’s down for her nap, we—”

At the mention of the child’s name, Emma whirled around. “Jamie? Where’s Jamie?”

Dave started and looked wildly in all directions. “I thought she was with you! I thought maybe you’d taken her inside….”

“She was with me…. She was right over there. I was taking pictures of the sunflowers and—” Emma froze and they both stared down the rows of five-foot-high plants. Sunflowers, row after row, that stretched continuously, stretched for miles.

If Jamie had wandered down one of those rows and gotten lost, it might be days before they found her.

Four

Emma was in a panic as she raced toward the fields. Dave stopped her just before she barreled mindlessly down the nearest row.

“No,” he shouted, catching her by the arm. “You’ll get lost yourself.”

“Jamie!” Emma screamed, her voice trembling with fear. “Jamie … Jamie!”

“I’ll call the neighbors for help,” Dave insisted. “We can’t do this alone. If necessary, we’ll get a rescue unit with a plane.”

“Oh, Dave … Dave.” Shaken, Emma pressed her hands to her lips. “Don’t you see,” she cried, wanting him to understand, needing him to feel the same stark terror she did. “It was because of Jamie that I married you, and now … now she could be …” Her daughter, lost somewhere in the endless row of sunflowers. Emma’s voice rose in near-hysteria. “Jamie!” she yelled. “Jamie!”

Dave’s head came back as though she’d slapped him. “Get hold of yourself,” he said firmly, gripping her shoulders.

At first she struggled, but it didn’t take long for reason to assert itself. She realized that if they were to find Jamie she’d need a clear head. Splaying her fingers through her hair, she forced herself to calm down and think.

“It’s nap time … Jamie’s tired … she’s probably found a sunny spot to cuddle up.”

“Okay, good,” he said, and briefly squeezed her shoulders. “Then she probably hasn’t wandered far. We’ll find her, Emma, you have my word on that. We’re going to find her. We’ll start a systematic search, but first we should check the house. Just in case …”

Emma followed him and climbed the porch steps, taking them quickly. She would’ve missed seeing Jamie except for the fact that she suddenly moved. Emma gasped. There on the wicker rocking chair, curled up like a kitten, was the three-year-old child, sound asleep and oblivious to the turmoil her disappearance had caused.

“Dave, look,” she called softly. He’d gone into the house, but as he emerged and stood in the doorway, she grabbed his arm and pointed to Jamie.

Emma watched the tension leave his shoulders, saw his face relax in a slow, relieved smile. “Asleep, just like you said.”

Her own sense of relief was so great her knees felt weak. Picking Jamie up, she sat carefully in the rocker and held her daughter against her heart. The trembling didn’t stop right away. But Emma knew that was a natural reaction because she’d come so close to losing what she valued most.

Dave sank down in the rocker beside hers.

Brushing the curls from Jamie’s forehead, she knew she needed to explain herself. “About what I said earlier … marrying you for Jamie’s sake …”

“It’s all right, I understand. I didn’t expect to attract a wife with my dashing good looks.”

“Stop it,” she snapped.

“You married me because Jamie needs a father,” he continued in a measured tone. “That was your reason. It’s no different from me marrying you because I felt I needed a wife, a family. We both knew, going into this marriage, that our reasons had to do with need, with what we need in our lives. I’m well aware that you intended no offense, and none was taken.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “need is part of this. It brought us to this point, to marriage. But you’re going to be the love of my life, David Stafford,” she said fiercely. “I’m going to love you, dammit. I’m going to love you with the same depth and loyalty that my immigrant ancestors had in their marriage. This is a love that will last us all our lives.”

His lack of response shook her. He sat looking out over the ripening fields, then stared down at his callused hands.

“I know we didn’t have a conventional kind of courtship,” she added. “It wasn’t necessary, not for me anyway. You’re everything you claimed to be in that Farmer’s Newsletter ad—decent, hardworking, honest—and it’s enough. More than enough.”

He remained still. So still that Emma didn’t know what to think.

“Say something,” she pleaded. Despite what he’d claimed earlier, she sensed that her thoughtless, desperate remark had hurt him and she couldn’t bear that. He’d been so good to her, to them. So understanding and patient.

“I loved you sight unseen,” he said.

Emma couldn’t help it; she disregarded his words. He’d told her himself that she’d been the only woman to respond to his ad. It wasn’t like he’d chosen her from among dozens of eager applicants.

“You don’t believe me,” he said stiffly. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“It isn’t that …”

“Then what?”

“Well, first, you didn’t exactly have a wide range of choices, now did you?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if a thousand women had answered that ad. You’re the one I would have picked.”

“But I came with … Jamie.” She leaned forward and kissed her daughter’s brow.

“You came with an asset. What is it advertisers like to say? Added value. Not only did I find a wife, now I have a family. For years I’ve lived alone, wishing for this very thing, needing it, wondering if it was possible for someone like me.”

There was a silence. Then Emma said, “Dave, why do you think I answered the ad?”

“For Jamie. You said so yourself.”

She smiled and reached for his hand, linking her fingers with his. “I answered it for me, too. Yes, Jamie needs a daddy, and I love my daughter to the depths of my soul, but I’m not completely unselfish. I was lonely, just like you were. I wanted a husband, a man in my life. A good man, who would encourage my dreams and share his dreams with me.”

A smile came to his eyes and she knew the reason. In those early letters, he’d explained what she should expect of life on a farm. He’d told her about his vision for America’s independent farmer and his own place in that future. He’d written about Buffalo Valley and how he hoped the town would survive and even flourish. There’d been no false enthusiasm in his words. No sentimentality. His was a dream that entailed hard work, careful planning and a willingness to change. He’d told her that he accepted these challenges and was looking for a woman who would accept them, too. A woman who would embrace this life of his. A woman who could value him for who he was.

“I expected my dreams to scare you off,” he said.

“They didn’t. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Married to me.” His wholehearted smile made his handsome in a way that went beyond the merely physical. “Damn, but I feel like the luckiest man alive.”

“I feel so blessed myself.”

Dave glanced over his shoulder toward the doorway leading to the house. “Well, Mrs. Stafford, I recall that we were both a bit sleepy earlier.” He raised his arms high above his head and released a loud and completely phony yawn.

Emma chuckled. “It seems I’m rather tired myself. Shall we go to bed, Mr. Stafford?”

“Oh, yes, but be warned—I don’t expect either of us will do much sleeping.”

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Harlequin MIRA is a registered trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited, used under licence.

Published in Great Britain 2013

Harlequin MIRA, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,

Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,

Richmond, Surrey, TW9 1SR

© Debbie Macomber 2013

eISBN 978-1-472-01254-8

Table of Contents

About the Author

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Copyright