Finding Stefanie (23 page)

When he met her gaze, the bleak look in his eyes began to drain.

She smiled.

When he reached for her, his fingers in her hair, she kissed him without hearing one voice from the past calling her names.

After all this time tracking him down, nudging herself into his life, everything had backfired.

She would blame the woman, the one who’d edged her way into his life, thwarting her plans. Didn’t Stefanie Noble know that he would only bring her trouble? only destroy everything?

That’s what people like him did—lived life without regard for those they hurt. Those whose lives they destroyed.

She watched him every day, her anger festering inside her, rooting, turning every thought into poison. How she wanted him to hurt like she had. How she wanted to turn his life inside out and make him cry out in pain.

She wanted everyone to know it, to feel with her what he’d stolen. To see how his choices had cost her. People—fans—across the world would applaud her for her courage. For her strength. For standing up and taking back her life.

The life he stole.

And as opportunity would have it, she knew exactly how to make it happen.

CHAPTER 16

I
T WAS ONLY A MATTER
of time before Lincoln’s world imploded. Not only could his private investigator not find Gina, not only had he woken up this morning with invisible weights attached to his arms and legs, and not only had Dex called again last night, wanting to talk to him, but this morning, Nick Noble had appeared, looking like a man with a bone to pick.

Nick had gotten out of his truck, stared at Lincoln’s house, then ambled over and stood at the corral, one leg up on the bottom rail, hands dangling over the top rail.

Lincoln figured it was an invitation to join him down at the O.K. Corral. He tried to push the word
showdown
out of his head, but it was right there, thundering as Lincoln pulled on his boots and grabbed his cowboy hat. He sort of sauntered/limped out of the house and rode the four-wheeler down the hill.

Not that Lincoln had anything to feel guilty about. After his picnic with Stefanie two days ago, he’d been feeling like a man with a second chance. A second chance to treat a woman with
respect. Until, of course, Nick Noble came around, looking every inch the big brother.

Nick Noble had been born in this rugged country, probably with a rope in one hand and a branding iron in the other. He looked as natural standing there, the worn good-guy white Stetson on his head, as the tumbleweed did rolling across the prairie.

“Hey, Nick,” Lincoln said, climbing off his four-wheeler.

Nick regarded Lincoln with a look that might have rattled a lesser man. “I’ll get to the point.”

Lincoln braced himself. Out here, a man didn’t get to the point until after he talked about his cattle and the weather and his new machinery and probably the local politics.

“What are your intentions regarding my sister?”

Oh, boy. Lincoln stood against the fence, watching his horses. Stefanie had taught Gideon how to feed them and let them out for exercise every day. More and more, Lincoln wondered what he’d do without Gideon.

And without Stefanie. She’d crawled into his heart in a way that he hadn’t expected. Sure, he’d wanted to earn her respect, maybe even prove he was her kind of man, but he hadn’t been prepared for how complete she made him feel. As if he no longer had to be in the room when she was there; he could just enjoy himself, lose himself in her smile. She had a strength about her that made him strong.

Or at least feel strong.

Lincoln swallowed, letting the wind and the beautiful Montana day fill the silence. He’d started to watch the sky like the cowboys, hoping for rain, worried that it might be another drought season.

It seemed that Nick would wait him out.

Lincoln sighed, not sure how to put what Stefanie made him feel into words. “I don’t know.”

Nick angled a look at him; clearly the answer wasn’t what Nick had hoped for.

Lincoln stared down at his boots. “I don’t know, okay?”

“Do you love her?”

Lincoln glanced at him, his face twitching.

Nick’s face broke into a slow smile. Then he pushed back his hat and laughed. “Okay, that’s enough of a yes for me.” He shook his head. “In case you’re wondering, if she makes you want to be a better guy and you think you might just stop breathing when you’re around her and your head won’t stop spinning—that feeling there is called love.” Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “Just in case you were confused.”

Lincoln nodded, not quite sure what to say and wondering how Nick had gotten inside his head.

Nick’s smile fell. “But let me be perfectly clear. You hurt her, and I promise you there won’t be any stuntmen around to take your fall for you.” He flashed Lincoln another smile. “Have a good day.”

Lincoln watched him go, a cold knot in his chest.

If Nick’s description was right, he just might be falling in love with Stefanie.

But he had to face the truth: his disease most definitely wasn’t going to go quietly into the night. Someday, maybe not far away, he might even need help to get out of bed, to get into his wheelchair. To eat.

Yeah, he’d be a real catch for a woman like Stefanie.

Lincoln thought he might be ill. How was he supposed to tell Stefanie that he wasn’t at all the man she saw? wasn’t anything like the man she expected in her life?

“Good morning.” Gideon came out of the barn, holding a bucket of grain. “You want me to put the horses into the pasture after I’m done feeding them?”

Lincoln nodded, unable to speak.

Gideon opened the corral gate, went in, and filled the feed trough. Lincoln’s herd of horses had begun to heal nicely, their coats starting to glisten in the sunlight. Stefanie had been right—they were beautiful animals. He wished he could ride one, but he knew in his condition that might never be a reality.

Gideon looked like a
Cowboy U
contestant gone wrong this morning with his black hair sticking out of a baseball cap plunked on backwards, and his ancient thermal shirt, worn cowboy boots, and ripped jeans. Still, as he moved through the horses, it seemed he’d inherited Stefanie’s magic with them, a gentleness in his touch that seemed to emanate from inside him. With the right environment and a little support, Gideon would turn out just fine.

Lincoln tilted his hat up. “How are things with you and Libby?”

Gideon looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I thought you two were friends.”

“We are, but . . .” He gave a shrug that looked anything but nonchalant.

Lincoln had studied body language enough to read the signs of rejection. “I’m sorry, pal.”

Gideon walked toward him, shaking his head. “Naw, we’re not right for each other. She’s . . . too good for me. Besides, she has big plans for her life. Going off to college this fall.”

“What about you—don’t you want to go to college?”

“Me?” Gideon laughed. “I didn’t even finish high school. Got my GED in jail.”

“That counts.”

Gideon came out of the corral and closed the gate. “Yeah, well, I got my sisters to look after.”

“What if you had someone else to look after them? What if they were cared for and safe?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you ever dream of doing anything with your life? What do you want to be?” Lincoln saw hesitation in Gideon’s posture and leaped for it. “What, Gideon?”

“I . . . sorta started thinking about being a vet.”

“You’d make a killer vet—no pun intended.”

Gideon’s blue eyes shone up at him.

“See, you could very well be college material. And I think you should tell Libby that.”

“No, I’m bad news for her.”

Lincoln frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Gideon started to turn away, but Lincoln grabbed his arm. It cost him and he nearly fell. He made a grab for the rail. Gideon gave him a funny look.

“What do you mean you’re bad news?” Lincoln repeated, hoping to deflect Gideon’s curiosity.

“I’m not . . . in her league. I’m not her type.”

“Is that what she said?”

Gideon pursed his lips, as if Lincoln had pried from him his darkest secret.

“Don’t you think she should have the right to decide that?”

Gideon shook his head and moved away, clearly already having made up his mind.

But Lincoln’s own words thumped inside him all day, like an
old rap song. Didn’t Stefanie have the right to decide how she felt about his disease?

He spent the day in his office, sorting through the movie scripts piling up on his desk. A number of them caught his attention, even rattled him. Like the film script titled
The Last Ride
. It began at the moment a man died and unwound all the way back to the place where his life had started to derail. It illustrated the passion of a life driven by desperation. However, the dark ending—or rather beginning—unnerved him.

Lincoln easily remembered the day his life had derailed and, more recently, the moment with Stefanie when he thought he heard it clicking back into place.

He set the script aside and picked up another one.

“Finding any good ones?” He had his door open and was surprised to see Karen standing at the door, a basket of his laundry on her hip. She had her hair up, and when she wore it high, with wisps curling around her face, she looked much younger than her thirty-plus years that Lincoln imagined. But of course, Lincoln didn’t ask. The few times he tried to inquire about her life, her family, she’d retreated into silence, and he wasn’t so thickheaded that he couldn’t figure out that she wasn’t the chatty type.

“A few. There’s a lot of talent out there.”

“I’ve always wanted to write a screenplay, maybe be a filmmaker.”

He thumbed through the pages of the screenplay in front of him. “Why don’t you try it? You never know what you can do if you don’t give it a shot.”

His words seemed to encourage her, and she smiled. “By the way, I found this on your office floor. I wasn’t sure if it was something you needed.” She held up a piece of paper. Lincoln recognized
it as the aerial map of the Big K he’d copied before he took Stefanie on the picnic. “No, I have others. Thanks.”

“Could I keep it? Just in case I might want to go exploring someday, if that’s okay?”

Lincoln nodded, and as Karen left, he looked back down at the script in his hand. It pulled him in, but he decided it was more of a Hallmark movie than a Lincoln Cash project. He became so absorbed that he didn’t notice how the shadows edged the room. His attention was jerked away when he heard what sounded like a gunshot.

He was on his feet faster than he would’ve thought possible. No, not a gunshot. A backfire. Lincoln looked out his window and spotted Gideon standing under the open hood of his car. The kid didn’t look happy.

Shadows ringed the hall; the kitchen was dark. Either Karen had already prepared his dinner and put it in the refrigerator or he was flying solo tonight. The smallest itch of irritation nudged him as he flung open the door and limped outside.

Lincoln motored down the hill on his four-wheeler and stopped beside Gideon’s car. “What’s up?”

“I think the distributor cap is cracked.”

“Will it start?”

Gideon shut the hood and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I guess I’m walking home.”

“I’ll give you a lift,” Lincoln said. “My keys are in my truck.”

But the truck wouldn’t turn over. It gave the smallest rev of life but refused to catch.

“Sounds like your battery’s dead,” Gideon said, jumping out.

“This is a brand-new truck.” Lincoln popped the hood, but aside
from knowing how to hotwire a car from his days in Dallas, he was about as useless under the hood as a monkey with a socket wrench.

“Everything looks fine to me,” Gideon said, staring into the tangle of hoses. He closed the hood. “Thanks anyway.”

“We’ll take the four-wheeler,” Lincoln said. “Hop on the back.”

Gideon sat behind him, holding on to the back of the seat. The sun had fallen to the edge of the western rim, the slightest sizzle of heat remaining in the day. Shadows washed the gullies, darkened the grassland as Lincoln drove Gideon to the Silver Buckle. He flipped on his light as night crested over them, the hum of the motor drowning out any conversation.

When headlights appeared behind him, Lincoln moved to one side, giving the car berth. It passed them, kicking up dirt.

Lincoln was pulling back to the middle when he heard, rather than saw, the next vehicle. He glanced behind him.

A truck. He edged over, but the vehicle followed. Lincoln lifted his arm, waving at the vehicle to pass.

He heard the truck accelerate a second before it slammed into the four-wheeler. What—?

The machine skidded toward the ditch as Lincoln squeezed the brakes.

The truck hit him again. Lincoln had a second of instinct as the machine hurtled into the gully on the side of the road. “Jump, Gideon!” He sprang off the careening machine, tucked, and landed in the grass.

For a long moment Lincoln lay there, breathing hard, listening to his heartbeat in his chest. Had someone really just tried to run them off the road?

The four-wheeler lay upended in the ditch, motor running.

Gideon.
Lincoln opened his mouth to call the boy’s name, but he couldn’t move. It was as if his limbs had been staked to the ground, and a blinding pain moved up his arms, his legs. Something unseen now weighted his chest. He couldn’t . . . breathe. Couldn’t . . .

Gideon!

Darkness splintered his vision.

Help!