Always Dakota by Debbie Macomber Page B

for Thanksgiving dinner, but that hadn’t stopped her from preparing one of the finest meals in recent memory.
    “More wine?” Margaret asked.
    “I’ll pour,” Matt said, reaching for the bottle of chilled chardonnay before she could.
    After two beers and two glasses of wine, Margaret’s reserve slipped even further. Propping her elbows on the table, she leaned toward Matt. “I want to talk about us kissing again, all right?”
    “Margaret…”
    “Please. You have to understand that something like this doesn’t happen to me every day. I have questions.”
    He shifted, clearly uncomfortable.
    “What did you think?” she blurted.
    “Think?”
    “You know. How was it?”
    He held his wineglass by the stem and seemed to carefully consider his response. “It was…nice.”
    She couldn’t hold back a smile. “It was fabulous for me, too,” she said, trying to sound mature, striving for sophistication. At the moment she was too pleased to care whether she succeeded or not. Hot damn, but he was a looker.
    A silence followed, and she guessed he didn’t know what to say next. From her father, Margaret had learned to respect silence. It didn’t always need to be filled, particularly not with chitchat or superficial comments. She let several minutes pass, watching him, enjoying his nearness.
    “Do you know the first time I saw you?” she finally asked.
    Matt shook his head.
    “It wasn’t too long after you moved here. I was rounding up strays and I came upon you and one of our men. You were knee-deep in mud, freeing a calf and you were arguing with this hand Dad had recently hired.”
    His face went tight. “I remember.”
    “Neither of you realized I was watching. As I recall, he accused you of attempting to steal that calf.”
    “We threw a couple of punches,” Matt said, frowning. “You were watching?”
    “I was.” She picked up her wineglass. “You two really got into it.”
    “We had a history.”
    She’d suspected as much, and would have wagered money that the history they shared was a woman.
    “You beat him in a fair fight.”
    He nodded, but didn’t look especially pleased with himself. He should’ve been, she thought, seeing that he’d come out on the winning side. The other man had hit the dirt after two solid punches. As if the confrontation was irrelevant, Matt had returned to the calf and finished freeing him. His actions told her more about Matt Eilers than all the gossip she’d heard before and since.
    “That hand wasn’t much of a cattleman,” Margaret muttered. “Dad fired him soon after.”
    “Last I heard, he was working for a fuel distributor in Texas. I think he always liked trucks better than cattle. Not everyone’s cut out for ranch life.”
    That was true enough, and perhaps Margaret should have left it there. She probably would have if not for the drinks she’d had. “I fell in love with you that day,” she confessed, “and more so every time I saw you. You might think it’s ’cause you’re handsome as sin, and that’s got something to do with it, but there’s more. You’re a good person, Matt Eilers. You don’t like people to know that—I haven’t figured out why. Deep down you’re honorable. You don’t cheat and I’ve never heard you say a bad word about anyone—not even when they deserve it.”
    If Matt had seemed uncomfortable earlier, it didn’t compare to the way he responded now. He half rose from his chair, his eyes filled with dread.
    “Women aren’t supposed to tell a man that, are they?” Margaret said quickly.
    “Ah…”
    “It’s all right,” she assured him, regretting that she’d embarrassed him, but not that he knew the truth about how she felt.
    “You don’t know me,” he said. “You don’t know what I’m really like, what I’ve done….”
    “I know enough.” Matt was no saint, especially when it came to women; she’d seen clear evidence of that. But, as she’d said, he had a good heart. She’d never told anyone