Finding Stefanie (14 page)

He got up, and although he knew everyone in town would watch and that news of his cold and barren heart would be fodder for Phillips gossip for days, he ducked his head and stalked out.

Maybe Stefanie had been right. He wasn’t her type at all.

Because her type wasn’t a man who had gotten his mother murdered.

Stefanie watched Lincoln leave and sat there on the far edge of the back row, something hot and painful in her chest. Could it be that she actually felt sorry for him?

A man didn’t walk out on a sermon without having a burr in his soul.

He’d looked forlorn or even pained by Pastor Pike’s words.
Words that she probably should have been paying attention to, but dragging her attention off Lincoln as he’d strolled into church and slid into the pew next to Clarisse Finney had proven to be more than a girl could manage. Especially a girl who couldn’t get the supposedly nice Lincoln Cash off her mind.

Besides, deep down inside, she was starting to believe his claim of being a good man. Or at least she wanted to. Gideon returned home every night with a new report from the work site of how Lincoln bought lunch for the workers, told them stories over break time, and brought Gideon a soda. Clearly, the actor had Gideon awed.

Lincoln could start his very own fan club—or at least another chapter—right here in Phillips, complete with membership badges and den meetings.

Not that she’d sign up or anything.

The door closed softly behind Lincoln, while Stefanie listened to Pastor Pike finish his point from Hebrews 12. “‘Look after each other so that none of you fails to receive the grace of God. Watch out that no poisonous root of bitterness grows up to trouble you, corrupting many.’”

Stefanie bowed her head, nearly choking on the words and on the rampant thistle of bitterness that she’d let twine around her heart and choke out every attempt by Lincoln to be her friend.

She hadn’t exactly been nice to him. Maybe she’d let him provoke her into behaving in ways she’d never thought possible. She’d been downright cruel to him. And for a terrible, evil moment, she’d felt justified. That probably made her feel the most shame.

No, he wasn’t her type. But maybe, despite his apparent throng of fans, he could use a friend. A neighbor.

She remembered last summer when she’d believed they’d had
the beginnings of a friendship. For some crazy reason, she’d thought she’d sneaked past the glitter to the real Lincoln Cash and found a guy who really liked her. Who was really interested in knowing her and her life.

His description of their conversation filled her mind:
“I spent time with a beautiful girl who has an interesting life.”
Sure, and in the next breath he’d try to tell her that he wanted to move to Montana, settle down, start a family. Regardless of the truth, she had the distinct feeling that she had somehow cut off grace from his life, at least the grace she could give him.

The grace he was so apparently trying to earn.

As the congregation stood to sing the final hymn, she slipped out of the back pew and out the door.

Lincoln was climbing into his truck.

“Lincoln!”

He turned, and the expression on his face looked so wretched, so torn, it stopped her midway down the steps.

“Wait!”

He seemed to hesitate. Maybe she really
had
hurt him, gotten through that perfect exterior and wounded something inside.

No, that was just too hard to fathom.

Yet, as if he knew she’d seen his agony, or maybe just because he couldn’t let someone see inside to the real Lincoln, he manufactured a smile and raised his hand. “Hey, Stefanie.”

She walked across the gravel lot. “I thought I saw you here.”

He came around the truck, fiddling with his keys. My, he cleaned up well for church, in his white shirt, black pants, and shiny boots. His shaggy hair and not-so-clean-shaven whiskers only added wildness to the rather tame attire. Always ready for a photo shoot.

She leaned against the truck. “You okay? You ran outta church pretty fast.”

He put on his sunglasses. “I’m just fine. Thanks.” He didn’t offer more, his I-am-a-star demeanor solidly back in place now.

“You sure? Because, you know, if you want to talk—”

“Nope. I’m just . . . not in the mood for church.” He flashed another smile, but she read ever so clearly the warning in his voice:
Back away from the church topic.

Being a pure Montana girl, she hadn’t been born with a tendency to spook. But she also knew when to let something go. “I hear your house is done, that you moved in.”

“Finished about three days ago.” He glanced past her toward the church. “How about you come over and let me show you around?”

Now that would be a colossally bad idea. Because even as he said it, his mouth slid into a slow, devastating smile, and he pulled his glasses down, letting her see the twinkle in his blue eyes.

Her gullible heart, which apparently didn’t listen to the warnings in her brain, began to gallop in her chest. “Uh, I don’t think—”

“C’mon, Stefanie. Let me be neighborly.”

Neighborly? Was that what he was calling this waterfall of charm? “I don’t think so.”

“The entire family can come—Macey and—”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea. Haley is just starting to get used to being with us, and I don’t want to put her into a new situation, and even Macey isn’t thrilled about leaving the ranch yet.”

“Then just you. I promise to be on my best behavior.” If she were on a movie set, she would have thought he’d rehearsed the way he tilted his chin to look right into her eyes, the tenor of his voice husky and low. “Please?”

Please?
Oh, brother, was that all it took? A steamy look, a wicked smile? She disgusted herself.

Don’t let him miss the grace.
She pursed her lips.

“Besides, I need your help.”

Yeah, sure, to do what? Pick out curtains?

The congregation had begun to spill out of church. A few people looked their way, and she greeted them with an overly wide smile. JB saw her, and along with his lifted hand, she noted a frown.

“How so?” she asked, looking back at Lincoln. For a second, she wished that one of the kids or Nick or Piper had come to church today. She could use the rescue. But no one was ready for the nosy questions, and although Gideon had asked about attending, when she’d knocked on his door this morning, all she’d gotten was a sleepy grunt.

“I recall you telling me how good you are with horses.”

“I didn’t say that. I said I
trained
horses.” But the fact that he remembered their conversation sent another blow to her defenses.

“Well, that’s good enough for me.” He twirled his keys around his finger. They glinted in the sun. “I need to get horses for the ranch, and I was wondering if you’d help me pick some.”

He wanted horses? As he said it, an idea—a
magnificent
idea—filled Stefanie’s thoughts, slid right into those nooks and crannies of frustration she’d been nursing ever since she’d rescued her recent quarter horses.

Just yesterday, JB had called her again with the final number of remaining horses. She’d spent most of the night downstairs in front of the fire in their massive stone fireplace, curled up on the leather sofa, casting her prayers toward heaven.
“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and
thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds.”

Lord, could this be Your peace?

Admittedly, she didn’t love Lincoln’s idea about filling Phillips with celebrities. The minute movie stars and notables flooded the town, they’d also have obnoxious tourists who parked on the sidewalks, ridiculed their food, and generally made Phillips feel like a throwback to the forties. Everything decent and ordinary and safe would vanish.

However, if she could get Lincoln to embrace his new ranch life, maybe he could see past his big dreams for glory and do something to really help this community.

“I’m really a nice guy when you get to know me.”

Yeah, prove it.

“Sure, I’ll help you.” Stefanie smiled up at Lincoln, past the glasses and the swagger, trying desperately to glimpse the potential inside. “I’ll be by tomorrow. I think I know just what you’re looking for.”

CHAPTER 9

“T
HESE ARE HORSES?”

That hadn’t come out quite like he’d meant it. Especially not how he’d hoped. Lincoln had been nearly holding his breath for the past twenty-four hours, counting the moments until he could get Stefanie alone and maybe prove to her that he wasn’t the guy she so easily mistrusted.

But if she really wanted to make him suffer, really wanted to put his nice-guy claim to the test, then she’d picked exactly the right herd of horses.

These were not the horses he would have chosen for a Lincoln Cash herd. These horses were . . . ugly. Big and clumsy and bony. Could a person even ride them?

“Yes, they’re horses,” Stefanie said, and judging by her tone, he’d made her mad. “They’re Clydesdales.”

She looked especially fetching today in a pair of dark jeans, her long hair captured under a brown Stetson, wearing a faded brown leather jacket and a pair of work gloves. Practical yet pretty. The real deal.

Lincoln felt overdressed in designer jeans, the shiny snakeskin boots, and his brown calf-hair blazer that would be more appropriate while enjoying a chardonnay at Morrell on Rockefeller Plaza than in the middle of a muddy fairgrounds pen inspecting a motley herd of skeletal animals that looked like fodder for a glue factory.

He wasn’t about to say that, though. Not with Stefanie looking at him with her best X-ray vision.

“Clydesdales?”

“You know, like the Budweiser horses?”

He surveyed the animals and did a quick mental comparison. “I don’t think so. These animals don’t look anything like those horses that pull the Budweiser wagon.”

“They’re draft horses, or quarter horse–draft crosses bred for their size. The smaller ones of the lot and a number of quarter horses have already been purchased. These mares were rescued a year ago from a PMU farm in Canada. They were bought by a couple who wanted to start a herd, but as you can see, they did a pitiful job.”

Indeed. Although they might have been beautiful once, or maybe could be someday, these horses had suffered something terrible, attacks that could only be described as feral, with some of them nursing gashes and wounds that would disfigure their hides forever. They had empty eyes and milled about as if confused, afraid. Lincoln had ridden many horses, but he’d never seen any so skittish.

“What’s a PMU farm?”

“Pregnant mare urine.” Stefanie held a burlap bag and now opened it, stepping up to the corral and digging out what looked like a dried piece of manure. “It’s used to create a hormone replacement therapy drug as well as over-the-counter antiaging drugs.”

“You mean like face creams?”

“Among other things, yes.” A large black horse was eyeing Stefanie’s outstretched hand and the apparently yummy manure ball she held.

“Why would anyone want to put horse urine on their face?”

Stefanie’s attention was on the black mare, which had started to walk her direction. “Vanity. Apparently it’s more important to look good on the outside than to care for God’s creatures.”

Lincoln noticed the animal step near Stefanie. The horse was so big that despite its clear lack of nutrition, Lincoln had the sudden urge to pull Stefanie back.

But she didn’t move, just kept her hand out. Clearly she wasn’t made of meek stuff.

“What’s that?”

“An alfalfa ball. It’s a treat for the horses.”

The horse stretched out her neck, ever so far, and licked up the ball. Lincoln expected Stefanie to move, maybe rub the mare’s nose, but she stayed completely still.

The horse took another step toward her.

“So, what happened to these horses? They look so beat-up.”

Stefanie lowered her voice, her tone soothing, her gaze on the creature. “The PMU horses are constantly being bred because it’s only when they’re pregnant that their urine is useful. They’re kept in these tiny ‘collection’ stalls, where they can’t move or lie down flat for long stretches of time—like six months. So they don’t get any exercise and are very weak.”

The horse took another tentative step and, this time, touched her nose to Stefanie’s hand. Stefanie rubbed the horse’s nose gently, then traveled up her face, petting. The horse took a final step until
her head was over Stefanie’s shoulder. Stefanie reached along her neck, ran her hand over her withers.

Lincoln held his breath and wondered if he’d ever seen anything so beautiful. It churned up a feeling that he couldn’t place, a softness inside him or maybe a longing. Stefanie had patience and authenticity that . . . well . . . scared him. He wasn’t used to women not caring if they wore makeup or stepped in manure, wasn’t used to women seeing beyond the obvious to something beautiful inside.

The more he got to know her, the more Stefanie Noble intrigued him.

The more he wanted her to like him.

“Recent discoveries of synthetic drugs have dropped the demand for these horses, and they were headed for the slaughterhouse,” she continued, oblivious to his eyes on her. “Obviously they weren’t worth much, and their previous owners saw an opportunity to create a number of dude strings, horses for dude ranches.”

“These horses? To ride? They’re so big!”

“But they have wonderful temperaments.” She laid her head against the black neck of the horse. “They are incredibly versatile, making great trail and pack horses.”

She’d attracted attention, and another horse, this time a bay, edged toward her.

“Unfortunately, these horses were moved here to a ranch located near the Bighorn Mountains. Because they’d been kept in such confinement, they weren’t prepared to react when cougars and even bears preyed on them. When our group found them, the pasture was littered with the carcasses of foals and mares, and most of the surviving horses had terrible wounds.”

The second horse had wandered up, but Stefanie didn’t reach
out to her. Lincoln watched, a slow smile flooding through him as the bay acted jealous, like a child on a playground wanting a piece of candy also. She nudged Stefanie, who smiled and handed the horse an alfalfa treat from the bag she carried.

“Hey there, pretty,” she said, rubbing the horse’s nose. “Want to come and live on Mr. Cash’s ranch? He’ll take good care of you.”

He would? Her words ignited something warm inside him. Yes, he would take care of them. Lincoln moved closer to Stefanie, his hand out, wanting to pet the horse. But the animal stepped back, shying away.

“Let her come to you, Lincoln.” Stefanie handed him an alfalfa ball. “Just stand here, and let her trust you.” She gave him a smile, one so full of confidence that he took the treat and held it out.

He’d probably get his hand bitten off.

Standing next to her, waiting for the horse to respond as Stefanie spoke in low tones to the animal she embraced, Lincoln felt a wave of shame sweep through him. “I’m sorry I called them ugly,” he said quietly.

“I know. You just had to know their story, and suddenly they became beautiful, didn’t they?”

He looked at the herd, the bays and blacks and roans, their strength and size, and especially the way all of them seemed to have at least one ear perked in his direction. As if waiting for his response.

“Yes.”

Stefanie smiled at him so sweetly that he felt as if he might be in high school for the way his heart exploded. “Look. You made a friend.”

The bay had hesitantly decided to give him another chance. Not
unlike, he hoped, Stefanie. When the horse nipped at his hand, Lincoln instinctively recoiled.

“She’s not going to hurt you,” Stefanie said, putting her hand under his, amusement in her eyes. “Lincoln Cash isn’t afraid, is he?”

“Listen, Dances with Horses, not everyone can talk to the animals. Besides, she’s got awfully big teeth.”

“All the better to eat you with.” She lifted his hand toward the animal. “Don’t move, Superhero.”

He sort of liked the new nickname.

With her hand still under his, he waited. Sure enough, the horse moved closer, nudging him for his touch.

“Horses are really like giant dogs.”

“I don’t see these dogs wanting to fetch my slippers.”

“When they don’t feel threatened, they want to reach out. They want to connect.”

Lincoln looked at her, something about her words tugging at him. She met his gaze. She had such gorgeous eyes, dark and mysterious. Yet today, full of forgiveness.

“Can I ask you a question, Lincoln?”

He rubbed the horse’s nose. “Does it have to do with my purchasing the population of a dog pound?”

She laughed. “Why did you come to Montana? to Phillips?”

He ran his hand down the horse’s neck, mimicking Stefanie. “To start a film festival.” That answer felt strangely hollow, so he tried again, putting more charm, more drawl into his voice. “And, of course, for the neighborhood.”

She rolled her eyes, and he laughed.

“You know what’s most interesting about these horses? They grew a winter coat, and it covered up all these scars you see now.
We wouldn’t even have seen many of them if we hadn’t been grooming off their winter coats. But by the time we saw the scars, we had already recognized how precious and alive and worth saving these horses were. And it didn’t matter how they’d been hurt. We already loved them.” Stefanie stepped away from the horse and headed toward the truck.

The horse she’d left stayed at the rail, nickering after her. Needing her, it seemed.

Lincoln followed Stefanie, aware that he might have more in common with his new herd than he wanted to let on.

Libby had been on the verge of tears all day. She couldn’t look at her sister, could hardly pour coffee, and mostly just wanted to hide in the bathroom and sob.

“Libby, I don’t want you hanging around that boy anymore.”
Her father had been judgmental, condescending, chauvinistic, and downright unreasonable.

She’d stared at him as she set his toast down in front of him this morning, a hundred words rising to the surface. She wasn’t a child anymore—she had turned nineteen four months ago. Where was the Christian love and acceptance he’d raised her to have? And what about Missy? She had a corral of boyfriends, from Luther McKinney to Andy Rider from the Silver Buckle, and her father hadn’t uttered a murmur of complaint. Not only that, but ever since that kiss at the diner, and even when she’d hugged Gideon at Lincoln Cash’s house, he hadn’t made the slightest attempt to kiss her.

Even if she sometimes wanted him to.

She’d watched her father ladle sweetener into his decaf coffee and add nonfat milk to his oatmeal, then sank down into a chair, her hand flat against the checked orange and yellow, flannel-backed plastic tablecloth, and schooled her voice. “Daddy, Gideon is a nice guy. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Her father glanced at her. “I’m sure you believe that, honey. But I’ve seen boys like him before, and I don’t think he’s the one for you.” He picked up his spoon. “Besides, with you leaving for college in the fall, don’t you think it’s better if you keep things at a distance between you?”

She looked down, running her finger along the tablecloth. She couldn’t tell him that she’d been thinking of not going to Bible college. Maybe staying here in Phillips . . . with . . . Gideon.

Libby got up, that realization hot in her chest. She poured herself a cup of coffee. “He’s my friend. And he’ll notice if I stop coming around.”

“You don’t have to be unfriendly to him. Just . . . don’t go out to Mr. Cash’s place. Gideon will get the message. I’m sure it’s not the first time.”

“That’s not fair. He’s gotten a lot of raw deals in his life.”

“Like jail?” Her father lifted his gaze to hers.

“The apostle Paul went to jail,” she said softly, not looking at him as she said it.

Her father had seen right through her comment and given her a small shake of his head.

She closed her eyes, feeling raw. She didn’t want to admit that she lived for lunchtime, for that hour every day when she and Gideon walked around the Big K as he told her about his life back in Rapid City before his imprisonment and after. His confession to
her had opened a door to trust, and although some of his stories made her want to cry—and more than once she had broken down on the way back to the diner—every day he seemed a little happier. A little less broken.