Finding Stefanie (15 page)

And she fell for him a little bit more.

She loved him for the gentleness he’d shown his sisters and the way he threw himself into every project Lincoln gave him. She loved him for the way he looked at life, despite being beaten by it, and because he believed, truly believed, he could make something of himself. She loved how he talked to her quietly, watching for her reactions, as if he didn’t want to hurt her. And she loved how he looked at her, all his emotions in his eyes, even if he didn’t voice them.

He loved her too. She knew it, and the fact that he hadn’t even tried to hold her hand made her love him more.

Finally she’d given in to that truth and embraced it. Maybe, if he saw her love for him, her compassion, her acceptance, he’d see Christ’s love there too. At least that’s what she told herself.

“Daddy—”

“Let Missy take the lunch today.” He’d set his coffee down and given her a sad smile. “Trust me, will you?”

She put her hand over her mouth, because everything inside her wanted to cry out in pain, and nodded.

Lincoln Cash had a sweetness about him that could get a girl into big trouble. Stefanie added another log to her glowing fire in the hunting cabin fireplace. The night air bore a briskness in its touch, the way it snuck under the door.

She’d arrived home from her day with Lincoln to find the cabin chilly and eerily quiet. And hearing Lincoln’s drawl, his laughter and teasing still in her ears.

Yes, the man could be very dangerous, especially when he smiled at her in that eye-twinkling, lopsided way, the wind drifting his scent—a rich cologne—her direction. Stefanie could hardly believe she’d spent the afternoon with him and hadn’t wanted to strangle him once.

Well, maybe once. But he’d backpedaled quickly after his comment about the condition of the horses, and when he wrote a check to purchase the entire herd, he’d etched a foothold in her heart.

Especially after looking scared—and she’d seen scared in the eyes of people she’d trained to work with horses enough to recognize it. After all, despite their own fear, horses could hurt or even kill a person without realizing it. Yes, Lincoln had been nervous, at the very least.

She had to like a man who knew he wasn’t made of steel.

Which made calling him Superhero that much more delightful.

Dances with Horses.
She smiled at that memory, then opened a jar of peanut butter, took out a spoon, and dug out a heaping tablespoon of creamy dessert. She liked the name nearly as much as Defender of the Oppressed. It felt a thousand times better than Ranch Hand.

Standing at the door, she looked down at the house. Dinner had been quiet tonight. Gideon spoke little about what he did at Lincoln’s, although Stefanie had seen him wearing a tool belt and carrying boards to the barn as she unloaded the horses from the trailer into Lincoln’s corral. She’d agreed—admittedly without much coercion—to return to Lincoln’s ranch tomorrow and teach him how to care for the horses. She should also help him track down a wrangler.

In fact, the day had stirred up all sorts of ideas. Like the fact that Lincoln Cash wasn’t the only celebrity buying up property and moving to Montana to start a ranch. She’d read about others too. Other wannabe cowboys who needed people like her—real ranchers—to teach them how to ride and care for their animals, how to run a ranch.

Staring out at the lime green grass, the fields dotted by lazy cattle, she wondered if perhaps helping Lincoln care for his animals might be an opportunity from God.

There she went again, dreaming of what she didn’t have, kindling the fires of discontentment. What was she thinking? She’d always be a ranch hand, the Noble who stayed behind, birthed the cows, shod the horses. And she should be happy—seeing Macey and Haley and Gideon living out of their car should have given her a hard shake. Why couldn’t she open her eyes and see what she had here—a family, land, a purpose, and now an opportunity to help Gideon and his sisters.

When had the ranch turned from refuge to prison?

She tossed the spoon into the sink. Piper and Nick had updated the cabin with contemporary artwork Piper brought from Kalispell, which went oddly well with the vintage fifties-style fridge and white Formica countertops and table. Although small—with only two bedrooms off the living area, separated by a tiny bath—the cabin had absorbed the love Piper and Nick had brought into their first home, and Stefanie felt like an intruder. Piper’s towering stack of books beside the worn leather sofa and a Bible on the round pine table next to an empty stone coaster betrayed a passion for reading so much like Stefanie’s father, Bishop, had had. No wonder Stefanie leaned on Piper more and more for wisdom.

Piper had become the sister Stefanie had always longed for. Why couldn’t she have arrived ten years earlier?

Then again, if she had, Nick wouldn’t have been ready to let go of his past and embrace the future God had for him.

Stefanie wondered when she might be ready too. She sank into an overstuffed chair before the ledgestone fireplace, watching the flames, listening to the crackling. How many hours had she sat in front of the fire, listening to the quiet house, when she’d come home from college halfway through her freshman year? Her father had tried to pry from her the reason for her early return, but she’d wound it so tightly inside her, shoving it into the darkness, that she couldn’t bear to unravel it.

She could still feel it sometimes—the hard coil of pain deep inside. A pain that stung and left a harsh taste in her mouth.

A bitter root.

A verse from Pastor Pike’s sermon slunk into her thoughts:
“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 rubbed her hands on her thermal shirt, then reached for a plaid fringed afghan. Maybe she did have a bitter root. Something embedded and stubborn and poisonous inside her. Tears bit into her eyes. She didn’t want to be bitter, but as she remembered her tone with Lincoln when he’d first arrived, it sounded . . .

Bitter.

How could she be bitter? Yet the past oozed into her mind, and she felt again the fist of betrayal as she watched her boyfriend—had Doug ever been her boyfriend or was he just the man who had used her?—draw another woman into his embrace. She saw herself
hide in the bathroom, pulling herself together, aware that she had turned into someone she didn’t know. Someone who had given the best parts of herself to a man who didn’t cherish them.

And to think she’d believed that when he invited her out for a fancy dinner at a nice hotel, he’d had candlelight and dinner on his mind.

Apparently not with her.

She closed her eyes against the voices, the ones inside that called her a tramp. Dirty.

A voice that said she had betrayed everything she believed in. Betrayed herself.

Maybe she did have a root of bitterness inside her, poisoning her. Poisoning her relationships with men. Poisoning her ability to be content. Poisoning her ability to trust.

How did one yank out the root of bitterness?

Stefanie winced and reached for Piper’s Bible, looking up the verse in Hebrews 12. Her gaze went to the first part of verse 15. “Look after each other so that none of you fails to receive the grace of God.” She’d thought God had been speaking to her on Lincoln’s behalf so that he wouldn’t miss out on His grace.

What if He’d also been speaking on her behalf? What if God had brought Lincoln here . . . for her? to show her His grace?

The fire crackled as a log fell in the hearth and sent out a spray of sparks.

Stefanie pressed a hand to her heart, remembering Lincoln’s smile, the easiness between them today, and realized she wanted to give Lincoln a chance to be a friend.

And not only for his sake.

But for hers.

CHAPTER 10

“A
REN’T YOU HOT STUFF!”
Piper set her magazine aside as Stefanie came down the stairs, barefoot and carrying a pair of spiky black boots. Piper sat in the chair Stefanie’s father had always occupied in the family room of their house, back in the corner, where he could survey the room, the stone fireplace, the leather sofa, the passage to the kitchen. Bishop Noble’s stack of books and his Bible still occupied the table; even after two years, no one had moved them.

“Who?” Stefanie stopped at the bottom of the stairs and glanced at Macey, who’d sprawled on the sofa, reading one of Stefanie’s ancient Nancy Drew books. Apparently mysteries never went out of style. Haley had built a house for her kitten with blankets and pillows and was playing on the wool braided carpet in front of the fire. She looked up as Stefanie entered and smiled.

How Stefanie longed to hear words from Haley. But the fact that the little girl now climbed onto her lap freely or occasionally gave her a hug seemed words enough.

“You, silly,” Piper said, one eyebrow tilted up at Stefanie’s attire.

So she wore a little black dress. What else did a girl wear to dinner? She wanted to look nice for him. Just a little. He’d been on extraspecial nice-guy behavior all week.

“Lincoln’s making me dinner,” Stefanie said. “It’s just dinner. We’re going to talk about his new horses, and he wants to show me his house. It’s nothing.”

Piper smiled, one hand on her growing belly. “Yeah. I know exactly where making dinner leads.”

Stefanie laughed. Two years ago, Piper had hired on as a so-called cook even though she hadn’t a clue how to boil water. As an undercover reporter, she’d been hunting for clues to a crime. Along the way, she’d had her heart stolen by her chief suspect. Yes, dinner could be a dangerous thing.

Stefanie, however, wouldn’t be taken in by Lincoln’s charm. He’d taken a chance on her pick of horses and had even listened to her advice, but she’d successfully calloused herself against his devastating smile, his lethal charisma. She could learn from the mistakes of her youth.

“We’re neighbors, Piper. That’s it. Nothing more. Really. Yes, he’s nice. And what’s not to like? Smart, handsome. And he’s incredible with the horses we bought.”

“We?”

“I helped.” She finger-combed her dark hair. She’d let it down tonight, but it always had a mind of its own. “I can’t believe I actually talked him into buying the entire herd—all ten horses—but he’s great with them. He’s bonding with a few of his favorites. He’s actually been out in the barn, spending hours grooming them, feeding them, even learning how to handle them.”

“Maybe he’s more of a cowboy than you thought.”

“Oh, he’s got cowboy in him all right. From his Stetson to his snakeskin boots, although I’m not sure how much is the real deal and how much is an act. But he’s still not my type.”

“What do you mean he’s not your type? You have something against tall, blond, and heartbreakingly handsome?”

Stefanie laughed. “Not in the least. From a distance. But I’ve been there, done that. . . .”

Stefanie’s humor vanished. Sometimes her mouth ran ahead of her brain. But she’d been privy to a few of Piper’s darkest moments, namely when she tried to run out on Nick in his hour of need, so . . .

“In college, I sort of fell for the campus jock. He was a football star, a senior, and gorgeous. His father owned the local car dealership, so he was a bit of a star on campus too.” She had long since tucked Doug back in her mind, but now his laughter, the way he’d two-stepped up to her at a dance that first night on campus, twined through her memories.

“I thought he loved me. . . .” She gave a halfhearted shrug and smiled at Macey, who put down her book and looked at her curiously. “I guess he got bored. Or . . . I don’t know. We dated for three months, but it ended when I found him with another woman.”

Piper glanced at Macey and stood, waddling over to Stefanie. With the baby due in less than two months, she looked like the fun had long since vanished from her pregnancy.

She hooked Stefanie by the arm, drawing her into the kitchen. “He cheated on you?” she whispered.

“I’m not sure he’d consider it cheating. Now that I think about it, he took great pains to hide our . . . whatever it was. We spent a lot of time indoors . . . if you know what I mean.”

Apparently Piper knew exactly what she meant. She gave her a soft smile. “We’ve all made mistakes.”

“Yeah, well, in my book, this was a big one. And to make it worse, I thought he’d planned this romantic getaway. . . . I got dressed up.” She sighed, seeing herself young and naive. “I probably made more of it than it was. But I was pretty ashamed of myself. I finally quit school at the end of the semester and came back to the Buckle.”

Piper wore a murderous look. “Did Nick know?”

“No—I didn’t need my big brother fighting my battles for me. Besides, he was . . .” Well, he’d disappeared from the ranch by then, and none of her letters were answered. “Out of the house.”

Piper knew enough of Nick’s past to give an understanding nod. “So now, what, you swear off all good-looking men?”

“Yep. Just the dogs for me.” Her little joke fell flat. “Listen, Lincoln Cash isn’t my type because I’m not
his
type. Yes, he’s gorgeous, but I don’t swoon when he walks into the room—”

“No, you just get mean.”

“That’s not true. I’ve been really nice. Overly nice. But the biggest reason is that I’m not going to be Lincoln Cash’s Montana distraction. He has a life, and it’s not here. Mine is. As soon as Lincoln lands another great movie role, he’s moving back to Hollywood. I can feel it in my bones. He’s here for fun, to pass time, or maybe even to try and pull off his film festival. But it won’t last, because despite his smile and the fact that he spent this week doing a stellar impression of a normal guy, I can’t help but think Lincoln can’t live without his fancy cars, his gourmet restaurants, and his gaggle of beautiful women. It’s only a matter of time.”

Piper had obviously been practicing her wise-mother look
because she used it on Stefanie now. Pretty well, in fact. “I think you might need to look beyond what you see. Give him a chance.”

Stefanie held up her hand. “Don’t even go there. I’m not looking to repeat my mistakes. We’re just neighbors, and I promise you, that’s all we’ll ever be.”

“Neighbors. Sure.” Piper went over to the fridge and opened it, then closed it with a huff. “Why is it that whenever I want something good to eat, it’s never there?”

“Want to come with me? I think we’re having steak.”

“I wouldn’t dream of tagging along. By the way, where’s Gideon? I didn’t see him come home.”

Stefanie sat down, pulling on the expensive black boots she’d worn in New York City last fall at one of Rafe’s GetRowdy bull-riding charity events. She figured wearing them again helped justify the expense. Besides, there weren’t too many places in Phillips where she could get dressed up without igniting a maelstrom of “high-and-mighty” comments.

She zipped into the boots. “He’s upstairs, lying on his bed. Seems to me that something is eating at him—he’s been chewing on something distasteful for the last three days, by the look on his face.”

“He definitely has a lot on his plate.” Piper opened the fridge again and took out a bag of baby carrots. “All of us do.” She looked up, crunching.

It suddenly occurred to Stefanie that maybe . . . what if Piper and Nick didn’t want the kids around? Yes, they’d been supportive, and Piper had clearly fallen in love with Haley, but once their own child arrived, how anxious would they be to invest in three runaways who needed their full attention?

Haley wouldn’t talk, and no one could ignore Macey’s damaged
arms. It looked as though her cutting had stopped, the last marks having turned pink and healing, but if they went back into the system, who knew what might happen?

In one short month, these kids had filled up so many empty places inside Stefanie, it took her breath away. She remembered how hollow her life had been without them.

Stefanie grabbed the long trench coat she wore for church. “We’re doing the right thing. They need us.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Piper nodded. “Be safe.”

Stefanie didn’t know exactly what Piper meant by that, but she gave her a nod and headed out the door. Clancy met her on the porch, tail wagging, and followed her to the truck. “No, pal. You can’t go with me. I know you love Lincoln—”

Everyone, it seemed, loved Lincoln. He had hypnotized the entire town with his plans—and his money—but like she’d said to Piper, she knew how to stay out of the vortex of his charm.

See, just neighbors.

As she drove up to John Kincaid’s old ranch, Stefanie had to admit that Lincoln had done an incredible job of sprucing up the neighborhood. His massive log home fairly glittered against the night, with its sprawling two stories totaling over four thousand square feet, the massive wraparound porch, the two fireplaces. She could hardly believe that just over a month ago he’d arrived to find his home in flames.

The new house overlooked the foundation where the old modular home once stood. The rubble had long since been bulldozed away, and construction workers had resealed the cement floor, ready to rebuild. The barn, which had been gutted and re-sided, had been remodeled, and the plans included a huge movie screen,
floor and balcony seating, and even a café. Everything someone needed to fully experience a Lincoln Cash epic.

She felt as if she were watching one live, right before her eyes.

Across the yard, he’d expanded the livestock barn, although he’d kept the original doors and siding, and had enlarged Kincaid’s corral. Inside, the ten horses he’d rescued were probably enjoying fresh hay. He’d also taken her advice and let them out to pasture during the day. Beyond the new livery stable, a pole barn housed the tractor, his pickup, and a four-wheeler.

Next to Lincoln Cash’s operation, which had shot up like a boomtown, the Silver Buckle seemed downright decrepit.

Stefanie drove up the drive toward the house, parked her pickup in front, and got out. The wide porch held two huge pots of geraniums and a swing, which swayed in the wind.

She raised her hand to ring the bell, but the door opened, as if sensing her presence. Lincoln stood there in his stocking feet, a pair of very faded jeans, and an orange pullover. He held a glass of what looked like Coke in his hand.

She gulped, feeling very overdressed in her black dress and spike heels. She squelched the urge to turn and run.

“You look incredible.”

“For a girl who hangs out with horses all day?”

“Hey, Horse Girl, you know how to clean up.” He gave her a blatant perusal, then ended it with a wink. “Do the other cowboys in Phillips know you have legs?”

Stefanie could feel her face flame.
Just neighbors!

He grinned, the scoundrel. “I promise not to tell anyone,” he said, moving aside to let her in.

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Good grief, even she could hear
the delight in her voice. She stepped into the house. The beauty of the foyer took her breath away, and for a moment, she completely forgot herself. “Wow. This is amazing.”

A giant antler chandelier hung from a two-story entry, lights embedded in the crannies of the horns. The floor was dark—darker than any wood she’d ever seen—and contrasted with the gorgeous wood of the pine logs. A staircase wound upward, with what looked like hand-tooled spindles and banister. The place even smelled new, like varnish, only tempered with the delicious smells of what she assumed was supper.

Her stomach offered a little growl.

“Perfect,” Lincoln said, setting down his drink on a rough-hewn bench in the hall. Probably cost a couple thousand, easily. “I like a girl who’s hungry.” He reached for her coat, and she let it slide off her into his hands.

“I can’t believe you built this in a month,” she said, reaching to pull off her boots.

He caught her arm. “Keep them on. They look nice on you.”

She eyed the white carpet that started in the next room. “They could be muddy.”

“I’ll get the carpets cleaned. I just never see you in anything . . . daring. I like it.”

Stefanie’s stomach did something she hadn’t felt in . . . well, she couldn’t remember the last time. Maybe she should take her boots off anyway, but with Lincoln smiling down at her . . .

She smoothed her dress, took a breath.

“I feel way out of my league.” He wore the slightest smile, and if he meant to tease, she saw nothing of it in his eyes. “Come in. Let me show you around.”

Although her home was made of logs—cut down from Silver Buckle property back when the place had been homesteaded by her great-grandfather—those logs didn’t in the least resemble the ones used for Lincoln’s house. Snug, clean, and bright, these logs looked as if they grew that way. The foyer opened into a two-story family room, with beams running the width of the house and a Montana-quarried flagstone fireplace jutting to the ceiling. Giant windows overlooked a lighted deck that most likely viewed the Bighorn Mountains during the daytime. On the other side of the stairs was a grand kitchen with dark cabinets and dark marble counters fit for some five-star chef.