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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?”
    â€œPlease,” she said, delighted by the invitation.
    â€œHow do you take it?” he asked, standing at the door.
    â€œSugar,” she said.
    â€œMe, 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.
    â€œHow long have you raised buffalo?” she asked.
    â€œBison,” 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.
    â€œWhy?” 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.”
    â€œSo you sell them for meat?”
    â€œI don’t raise them as pets.”
    â€œNo…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.
    â€œAnother 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?”
    â€œNot 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.
    â€œI make my first official stop next Thursday if you’ll get me your list,” she told him.
    â€œFine.” He stayed where he was on the porch as she walked toward her parked car.
    â€œGood 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.
    Â 
    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