Finding Stefanie (10 page)

Stefanie wasn’t sure where all that came from, but the look on Lincoln’s face went from worried to . . . strange. He just stared at her while Haley sniffed and Gideon glared at them.

Finally Lincoln shook his head, but his voice gentled. As if there might be a human under those rugged good looks after all. “Listen, this isn’t a good idea. You haven’t been around kids like these. I’m telling you, Stefanie—you’re in over your head.”

Aside from the way his words stirred up questions, she couldn’t ignore the meaning:
You’re not tough enough for these kids.
Apparently he hadn’t been paying attention to the life she lived. Tough was her middle name.

“What are you doing here, anyway? Why don’t you go back to saving your pretend worlds and leave the real stuff to the little people.” She put the end of her sentence in finger quotes.

A muscle in his jaw tensed. “I’m here because I’m going to do something good for this town. Because Phillips is a great place, and I’d like to be a part of it.”

“Oh, great job. Winning friends already. Wait, I think I hear the Welcome Wagon ringing your doorbell. . . .” Stefanie put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, whoops, you don’t have a doorbell, do you?”

His eyes narrowed. “That was mean, even for you.”

“You don’t think I can be mean? I’m just a cowgirl, you know. I’ve been around these bulls a long time. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to be nice.”

For a second she even believed herself. Because something about being around Lincoln Cash made her into a person she didn’t recognize.

His voice seemed to come from a place of hurt. “That’s not true. I think I met the real Stefanie Noble last summer, and this isn’t her.”

That only made it worse. She ignored the sting of his words lest her emotions spiral off and she do something embarrassing like burst into tears.

“How do you know who the real Stefanie Noble is?” The question lingered there, and suddenly it felt raw, as if he’d forced way too much from her. A burn rushed into her face, yet she rallied. “It’s my decision to invite these kids to stay, and that’s what I’m doing. You don’t have to approve. In fact, hmm . . . that’s strange. I ran my life for years without your intervention. I think—uh, yep, I’m
sure
—I can make a decision without you. Amazing, the world runs without Lincoln Cash’s say-so.”

She knew her words had made a hit because his mouth closed and his face darkened. “Fine.” He turned to Gideon. “This is the last chance, kid. Take it or leave it.”

Gideon’s face had hardened, and for an agonizing moment, Stefanie thought that he might actually grab the money and run.
Please, Lord . . .

“No. I think we’ll . . . um, stay here for a little while.”

Lincoln frowned at him, obviously not used to having his brilliant ideas rejected twice. Then he folded the money, slipped it into
his wallet, shoved it back into his jeans, and stared at Gideon as if trying to find the right epitaph.

Silence stretched between them. Stefanie could nearly hear Gideon’s heartbeat in the wind, in time with her own.
Please, Cash, don’t wreck this. . . .

“Okay, kid, listen up. You remember that this family helped you out. They took a chance on you, and if you so much as look at Miss Stefanie, or anyone else here, the wrong way, I guarantee that I will not only call Social Services but do everything in my power—and don’t underestimate me—to make sure you spend the rest of your days regretting your mistakes.”

He didn’t wait for Gideon to reply, just turned to Stefanie. “I need a ride back to my ranch.” Clearly Lincoln wanted her to give it.

She said nothing. She might be stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d seen one of his movies. Knew that ten minutes in the presence of his charm could wrap a girl’s brain into knots, and despite the fact that she’d rather ride next to a basket of rattlers, she knew that if she didn’t watch it, soon she’d be laughing at his jokes and becoming downright neighborly or something.

Besides, she’d made the mistake of falling for a charmer before and still bore the scars.

She wouldn’t be loaning
this
neighbor any sugar.

“I’ll drive you back.” Nick’s voice came from behind Stefanie, and she turned, surprised that her big brother had been listening. Apparently he’d already been out working because he wore his scarred gloves and his brown canvas jacket, his white Stetson over his dark hair. He glanced at Stefanie, but his eyes betrayed nothing.

“Thanks, Nick,” Lincoln said and brushed past her.

“Least I can do for a neighbor,” Nick said.

Stefanie shook her head.

Gideon winced, looking as if he’d been beaten up.

“C’mon. Piper made eggs,” Stefanie said to the little group, starting back toward the house.

As she passed Lincoln and Nick getting into Nick’s truck, she met Lincoln’s eyes. Neither of them smiled.

Suddenly she felt a touch. Stefanie’s heart soared as she closed her fingers around Haley’s cold little hand.

CHAPTER 6

L
IBBY HAD NEVER
been one to swoon over movie stars. While Missy had hung posters of Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio on the walls on her side of the room, Libby had admired people like Elisabeth Elliot, the famous missionary who’d lost her husband in Ecuador so many years ago. Libby wanted to be someone who changed lives, not because of her money or looks but because she showed the love of Christ.

Although sometimes, admittedly, she couldn’t rightly tell whether her smile for Gideon grew from her desire to love him to salvation or just . . . love him.

She watched him pile dishes into the dishwashing tray, spraying them with the long hose. He’d seemed quieter this past week, more withdrawn. And harder working. Every morning, she found him waiting on the back step as she opened the restaurant; every night he left last, watching her as she got into her car to drive home.

He looked at her now and gave her the slightest smile. “Lincoln Cash still out there?”

She didn’t know why, but she’d noticed that every time Cash came into the diner, Gideon hid in the back room until he left. Which didn’t seem very Gideon-like at all. Unless she remembered the way Cash had raked him over the night of the fire. It had taken Libby a few days to forgive the actor for that—despite his smile, the way he complimented her service, even his gigantic tips.

Yet with Cash’s long stretches of campouts at Lolly’s Diner—Missy had yet to change the name—Gideon couldn’t dodge the man forever.

“He’s just finishing his pie,” she said. “I don’t know why he insists on staying until closing every night. You’d think he’d be tired of this place after eating lunch here every day. And most of the time he takes a bag dinner too. But it looks like he’s nearly done. You’re almost in the clear.” She slid her tray of dishes onto the counter next to him. “I’ll give you the high sign.”

He held up the sprayer, as if he might actually shower her. She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Missy, this is just about the best banana cream pie I’ve ever eaten.” The actor’s voice filtered through to the back room.

Gideon’s smile disappeared, and he turned back to the dishes.

Libby heard Missy’s giggle and knew that her sister, like the rest of the population of Phillips, had fallen under the charm of their local celebrity. Admittedly, he’d turned out to be the town’s benefactor as he sold the idea for a film festival to be held in this little pocket of the world. The way he painted it, movie stars and celebrities from around the globe would saturate their little town, drawn here by the charm, the authenticity, and the safety it offered. Lincoln Cash had even established business grants for anyone who wanted to open a restaurant—which made Missy
ever
so happy—or a hotel.

Libby knew from the influx of breakfast and dinner customers that something akin to a barn raising was happening out at the Big K. Gideon hadn’t said much, but rumor had it that Cash had a virtual army out on the property, building a house and a theater and who knew what else.

The entire town seemed beside themselves with excitement. After Cash assured her that he’d make sure to endorse her diner, Missy had named no less than three dishes after him—the Lincoln Burger, Eggs and Cashbrowns, and a Cashapalooza, which was just a mash of ice cream and hot fudge and caramel she’d asked him to concoct. Currently it was their number-one seller.

Libby had to admit, as she came out of the kitchen and saw him sitting there on the stool—the night backdropping him, one hand holding the newspaper, the other lifting a coffee mug—that he had brought charm to their town. He wore a light brown denim shirt today, sleeves rolled up just below his elbows, a black Stetson, and jeans. When he smiled at her, she identified definite swooning inside.

“Libby, great coffee tonight. I can’t believe this is decaf—delicious.” He lifted his cup, and she grabbed the pot, filling it.

Missy looked up from where she was wiping tables. “Hey, Lib, would you mind closing up for me tonight?” She balled the rag up and tossed it into a bucket.

Libby nodded. “Gideon’s still here too.”

“Thanks.” She walked by Libby, taking off her apron. “See you in the morning.”

Libby collected Cash’s plate and set it on a tray of dirty dishes. “Mr. Cash, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

He put down his paper and looked at her. “Go for it.”

“Do you go to church?”

He seemed to ponder that. “I used to, once upon a time. Maybe it’s time to go, huh?”

Libby tore off his check, putting it facedown in front of him. “Do you consider yourself a good man?”

Cash frowned at her. “I guess I do.”

“You seem like one, with all the stuff you’re doing around town. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t wasted.”

He picked up the check, stared at it for a minute. “I don’t understand.”

“Coffee and pie—”

“No, I mean, what do you mean, wasted? Isn’t doing good a good thing?” He pulled out a ten and pushed it toward her. “Keep the change.”

Libby smiled. “Thanks.” Another 60 percent tip. “The thing is, being good is fine, but all that goodness isn’t going to get you anywhere but farther from God. See, we can do all the good we want, but if we’re not saved, it just masks our need for a Savior. Good isn’t going to get anyone to heaven. Only realizing we need Jesus, and being forgiven, is going to matter.”

“Are you saying that anything good I do without God isn’t really good at all?”

“Not in God’s economy. The only good we do that counts with God is the good we do in faith, in cooperation with Him.”

He got up. “I’d like to think I’m cooperating with God.”

Libby opened the cash register, deposited the cash, drew out the change, and slipped it into her pocket. “I’m sure you do. So maybe going to church might help you figure out what that means.”

Cash touched his hat, giving her a wink. “Then I’ll see you there.” The door jangled as he exited.

She smiled. That was easy. Maybe she did have a knack, just like her mama had said. Ever since she was young, she’d been inviting friends, neighbors, even strangers, to church. Janie Pike had called her the “littlest missionary.” How she ached to have her mother’s prophecies come true.

“Is he gone?” Gideon stuck his head out of the kitchen. She noticed his apron was wet down the front.

She giggled. “Yeah, big bad Cash has left for the night.”

Gideon came out, wiping his hands on a towel. “He’s got it in for me; I know it. That’s why he’s here every night. He thinks I’m going to do something bad—maybe steal money from the till or set the diner on fire.”

Libby took Cash’s coffee cup and put it in with the dirty dishes. “I doubt that. He’s just hungry.”

“Every night? During closing time?”

“Wait, is that him, sitting outside the door with a six-shooter?” She cupped her hands above her eyes as if peering outside. “No, he’s looking in here with binoculars. Duck!”

“Stop.” Gideon didn’t look amused. “He doesn’t like me.”

“You got off on the wrong foot with him is all.”

He gave an incredulous huff. “I burned his house down, Lib.” He looked so wretched when he said it, his hair over his eyes, leaning against the doorframe.

Libby turned her tone soft. “Everyone knows it was an accident, Gideon. Really.”

He shrugged, then brushed past her to pick up the last tray of dishes. She stepped back to let him pass but reached out to touch his arm to stop him. He jumped as if she’d shocked him.

“You know, you don’t have to live as if the world hates you. You have a fresh start here in Phillips.”

An expression so raw came over his face, everything inside her stilled. Then he shook his head. “There are no fresh starts for me. Just . . . moving on.”

“So, you move on.”

He gave her the smallest smile. “Right. Moving on into the kitchen now.” He winked, and although the man voted one of America’s sexiest men had just done that without causing the slightest reaction from her, this from Gideon had her body suddenly alive, every nerve tingling. She swallowed as he disappeared into the kitchen.

She should lock up and go home.

Taking a spray bottle, she sanitized the counter, found a couple of dirty cups left behind, then switched off the front light, locked the front door, turned off the diner lights, and went to the back.

Gideon had just begun to spray down the dishes he’d placed on the tray in anticipation of loading them into the dishwasher.

Libby reached around him to put the cups on the tray and bumped his arm. Water sprayed down the front of him.

“Hey!” The strangest look came over his face.

And then, she didn’t know why, but she shrugged as if she didn’t care in the least that he was saturated. “Sorry.”

She saw her mistake a split second later as a smile, a dangerous one that she’d never seen before, crawled up his face.

He turned the hose on her and depressed the sprayer.

Warm water soaked her—her hair, her face, her pink T-shirt under the white apron, the black uniform pants, her white tennis
shoes. She screeched and turned to protect herself, but he didn’t stop, just sprayed her down the back.

“Stop!” Libby accompanied her cry with a lunge for the sprayer and must have taken him by surprise because she not only got her hands on it but turned it back on him, drenching his face, his hair, his clothes.

Gideon wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her away, wrenching the sprayer from her grasp.

They were both breathing hard, laughing, dripping onto the floor. He had a nice laugh, deep and full, and she hadn’t really heard it, ever. It made everything inside her feel warm. He still had his arm around her waist, and as she wiped her face with her hands, she noticed how tall he was, nearly a half head taller than her. And strong—one-handed he’d muscled the sprayer from her without hurting her. But with his black T-shirt plastered to his body, she realized that he wasn’t nearly as skinny as he was fit.

He still wore the smile as he let her go and ran a hand down his face. He gave her a look, half disbelief, half mischief, shaking his head. “I should have known you were trouble.”

Her mouth gaped in mock indignation, but she never got a word out. Before she could blink, before she could catch her breath, before she could even think, he leaned down and kissed her.

It might have been a quick kiss, just for fun, but she leaned in and kissed him back. He tasted of water and something tangy, like soda. He moved right into the kiss, putting his arm around her waist again and pulling her to him.

Everything inside her simply exploded. She felt sensations she’d never experienced before—her heart racing, and fear, too, only with a sweetness that started in her toes and moved upward, toward
her heart. She’d never been kissed before. Her arms went around his neck, and she lifted her face and loved the feelings that went through her. Not that she’d been dreaming of kissing Gideon—she’d tried not to think about it, actually. But now, everything that she felt about him, although new, she poured right into that kiss. And he kissed her back, as if he might be feeling exactly the same way.

Gideon pulled away. His smile had vanished. His hand came up and touched her face, as if he might be in shock, with his eyes wide. He swallowed, and a small smile began to curve his mouth. “I really like you, Libby. I really, really like you.”

Her breath caught, and for a second, although she knew he meant it in every good way, she felt sick, right in the pit of her stomach.

What was she doing? She forced a smile, stepping back from him, disentangling herself from his arms. She pressed her stomach, mostly to keep the churning inside. “Yeah. Okay. I . . . uh, I gotta go.”

He looked like he’d been slapped. “What . . . what did I do? What’s the matter?”

Libby turned, wiping a silly tear away. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t really expected words of undying love, had she?

No. But the reality of how far she’d let herself fall from her own standards rushed over her. She’d wanted to save her first kiss until she met
the
boy . . . and that wasn’t supposed to happen until after she had been a missionary for a good long time.

Not only that, but what was she doing kissing, of all boys, Gideon—who probably had a world of experience kissing girls?

“Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She felt his hand on her arm, but she couldn’t face him. He hadn’t done anything, not really. But she should have known better than to . . .

She was turning into one of those girls at school who hung around the boys’ locker room.

Some missionary she’d make. She would bet they didn’t teach this method of evangelism at Bible college.

Libby pulled away from him and shucked the tears off her cheeks. “It’s nothing. I’m just wet, and it’s late. . . .”

He stood there, quiet, beside her—so quiet that she thought he hadn’t heard her. She glanced up at him.

He looked as if he’d just run over her pet dog or maybe seen someone die. Horrified. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice shaky. “I . . . you were . . .”

A wave of sympathy poured through her. She held up a hand. “No, it’s my fault. I gave you the wrong impression. I shouldn’t have . . .” She swallowed and looked at the floor. “I gotta go.”