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Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author DEBBIE MACOMBER
“Well-developed emotions and appealing characters … Macomber is a skilled storyteller who turns [Montana] into an engaging, unabashedly sentimental love story.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Debbie Macomber is one of the most reliable, versatile romance authors around. Whether she’s writing light-hearted romps or more serious relationship books, her novels are always engaging stories that accurately capture the foibles of real-life men and women with warmth and humor.”
—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
“Debbie Macomber’s gift for understanding the souls of women—their relationships, their values, their lives—is at its peak.”
—BookPage on Between Friends
“Macomber has a gift for evoking the emotions that are at the heart of the genre’s popularity.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A multifaceted tale of romance and deceit, the final installment of Macomber’s Dakota trilogy oozes with country charm and a strong sense of community.”
—Publishers Weekly on Always Dakota
“Macomber … is no stranger to the New York Times bestseller list. She knows how to please her audience.”
—Oregon Statesman Journal
“Macomber’s assured storytelling and affirming narrative are as welcoming as your favorite easy chair.”
—Publishers Weekly on Twenty Wishes
Debbie Macomber
Montana
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 1225 Christmas Tree 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 A Mother’s Gift Angels at Christmas A Mother’s Wish A Merry Little Christmas
The Manning Sisters
The Manning Brides The Manning Grooms
Summer in Orchard Valley
Dedicated to Barb Dooley, with thanks
for blessing my life with her wisdom and friendship
Dear Friends,
My career has taken many twists and turns over the years. It all started back in the late 1970s with a rented typewriter set up at the kitchen table. Between car pools, Cub Scouts, ballet lessons, teaching Sunday school and analyzing new math, I wrote. Day after day, month after month and year after year. As soon as the kids walked out the door for school, Supermom was magically transformed into the struggling young writer.
In those early years all I had to sustain me was my passion for storytelling and my dreams of one day becoming a published writer. I’d close my eyes and picture my name on the cover of a book. I could even see the artwork. For someone who had yet to publish a word of fiction, this was heady stuff. But here I am, more than thirty years later, with literally dozens of published books, translated in more than twenty countries around the world.
I have a lot of people to thank for this incredible opportunity, especially my editor Paula Eykelhof. She’s supported me and my career with energy and enthusiasm. Her insights and editorial skills have helped shape this story and dozens of others from beginning to end.
A special note of appreciation to Geri and Scott Bier, who generously let me call on their ranching expertise. And of course a big kiss to my husband for encouraging me to live my dream. He could complain a great deal more than he does! But mostly, thank you, my loyal readers, for your continued interest and support.
You can reach me through my website at DebbieMacomber.com or Facebook at Debbie Macomber’s World or by letter. Your letters have touched my heart. You can reach me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.
Again, thank you for your support and encouragement through the years, and don’t forget to dream big yourselves, for who knows where those dreams will take you.
One
“I don’t know how much longer your grandfather’s going to live.”
The words hit Molly Cogan with the force of an unexpected blow. Sinking onto a stool beside the kitchen phone, she blocked out the blare of the television and her sons’ ongoing argument over whose turn it was to set the table for dinner.
Tom and Clay were at each other’s throats, but Molly could only deal with one crisis at a time. “Who is this again, please?”
“Sam Dakota. Listen, I realize this isn’t the best time, but I felt I should tell you.” He paused, then added, “Walt wouldn’t appreciate me calling you, but like I said, you have a right to know his health isn’t good.”
The unmistakable sound of shattering glass filtered through the television noise as the boys’ skirmish escalated.
Placing her hand over the mouthpiece, Molly shouted, “Boys, please! Not now.” Something in her voice must have communicated the importance of the call, because both turned and stared at her. A moment later, Tom reached for the broom.
Molly’s hand trembled as she lifted the receiver back to her ear. “How do you know my grandfather, Mr. Dakota?”
“I’m his foreman. Been here about six months.”
The fact that Gramps had willingly surrendered control of his ranch to a hired hand—a stranger—told her a great deal. For the past few years, he’d sold off portions of the once-huge spread, until all that remained was a couple of thousand acres, small by Montana standards. He’d managed the Broken Arrow Ranch himself as long as she could remember. Hired hands came and went, depending on the size of the herd, but as far as she knew, he’d always maintained tight control of the day-to-day operations. Over the years his letters had been infrequent, but in the last one—which she’d received after Christmas, four and a half months ago—Molly had sensed something wasn’t right with Gramps. She’d put aside the feeling, however, consumed by her own problems.
“Tell me again what happened,” she said abruptly, struggling to regain her composure. The man’s first words had been such a shock, much of what he’d said afterward had escaped her.
“Like I told you, spring’s our busy time, and yesterday your grandfather told me he’d be out to help check on the new calves. When he didn’t show, I returned to the house and found him unconscious on the kitchen floor. Heart attack, I figured.”
Molly pressed her fingers to her lips to hold in a gasp of dismay. Gramps … in pain. Unable to breathe. Losing consciousness. It frightened her to think of it.
With