Finding Stefanie (19 page)

Fear, perhaps? Stefanie now knew him better than any other woman anywhere. In fact, she knew enough about him to really hurt him.

But it wasn’t exactly fear. . . . For the first time in . . . well, he knew he’d never felt this kind of alive before. A sort of energy infused with hope, perhaps.

Until, of course, the local clergyman came knocking. Now he just felt dread.

“Mr. Cash?” Pastor Pike stood at the door, lean despite the paunch and stern in a pair of black cowboy boots, pressed dark jeans, a button-front dress shirt, and a long wool jacket. He reminded Lincoln of an Old West sheriff—all he lacked was a six-gun. “Can I come in?”

Lincoln held open the door, wondering if Pastor Pike could sense the fact that Lincoln had held Stefanie in a lingering clinch right here in the foyer only a few days ago before sending her out the door with a container of leftovers Karen had packed up for the kids.

“Sure, Pastor,” Lincoln said, shuffling back, hating how this morning, his foot had shown signs of spasticity, sliding instead of lifting as he drew it along the floor. “Take a seat in the family room.” He extended his hand, thankful when the pastor walked in front of him.

A pastor wouldn’t betray his secrets, would he?

Secrets that were getting harder to hide.

Thankfully, Stefanie hadn’t found him lying in the muck in the middle of his barn yesterday morning, or he’d have some explaining to do. And the fact that he spent most of his time sitting on the sidelines this week had more to do with his increasing fatigue than a desire to let Stefanie do all the work.

He slid his hand from his pocket, tightened it into a fist. His left hand had continued to worsen, and this morning, like before, his vision blurred around the edges. Still, his doctor had been reluctant to put him back on his previous medicine or start him on a round of anything else. Charting his exacerbations, as the doctor called his flare-ups, would help them know how to treat him in the future.

He was his own walking guinea pig. Perfect.

Lincoln perched on the edge of a chair—it was easier to get up that way. He braced himself, much like he might if Dex told him he was cutting a scene or even a role.

Pastor Pike took a deep breath, as if whatever he had to say might be difficult. “Mr. Cash, everyone in town is excited about your plans. I talked to Rolly, and your loan to spruce up his B and B is just what he’s been praying for. And I know that although my daughter is in a snarl about Denny McFarland’s plans to open a steak house, I for one can’t wait for a decent porterhouse.” He smiled.

Lincoln’s mind went to the steaks left uneaten last Friday night.

“We’re all gung ho, but—” Pastor Pike looked out the windows toward the view of the Bighorns—“we’ve run up against a problem that we thought someone should bring to your attention.”

Lincoln didn’t move. “Go on.”

“It seems there’s been a rash of trouble in town these past couple months. Someone broke into the Laundromat and emptied out the quarters from the machines; there’s been vandalism at the school—graffiti—and hot-rodding down Main Street that broke a streetlamp; and Frank over at the hardware store said that someone stole a display of lawn art.”

Lincoln folded his arms across his chest, tucking in the hand that still trembled. “I’m not sure what this has to do with—”

“Everyone knows that you’re friends with the Noble family. Clarisse Finney has threatened to call Social Services about the kids, but I thought . . . well, we were hoping you might just have a conversation with Stefanie.”

“You think Gideon is responsible,” Lincoln said, barely keeping his voice civil. “You think he’s behind the stealing, the vandalism.”

Pastor Pike wore a grim expression. “We haven’t had this sort of trouble for years.” He shook his head. “Frankly, the last troublemaker we had in Phillips was Rafe Noble.”

Lincoln hid a smile at this. He knew Rafe well enough to know that Pastor Pike spoke the truth. “It’s not Gideon. He’s a good kid. Hard worker. And his car is a wreck. I think it’s currently rusting away in the Nobles’ yard.”

The pastor nodded as if he was listening but said, “I think everyone in town would feel a whole lot better if Stefanie sent those kids on their way.”

“To where? They don’t have anyplace to go—”

Pastor Pike raised a shoulder. Lincoln had the feeling that the shrug contained inferences about his cash flow and a suggestion to share it. Lincoln said nothing—too stymied by not only the pastor’s implication that he should shove a wad of cash in the kids’ hands
and send them down the road to their next gig but also the fact that he’d already done it once, to his great shame.

Pike finally said, “How about calling Social Services? That’s what they’re there for.”

“No.” Lincoln found his voice, pulled it out of his shame, felt it build in strength. “I’ll tell you what Social Services will do. They’ll take those kids and slap Macey in a shelter or a temporary group home. Haley will be sent out to some nice foster family who will want to adopt her, and Gideon might even go to jail for kidnapping. They’ll never see each other again.”

He remembered the conversation he’d had with Stefanie about losing her mother and her comment about Macey being a lot like her in her love of horses. It occurred to him that perhaps she had more in common with Macey than she let on. He imagined Stefanie at thirteen—long skinny legs, scraggly hair, hiding out in the barn with her horse, trying to cope with the grief of losing a mother. How did a teenage girl survive losing the one person who might help her navigate through life?

No wonder Stefanie had become a pro at handling horses and even the North kids. Nurturing them gave her the chance to experience the nurturing she’d never had from her own mother. As he’d watched her train the foal yesterday, always repeating the reward of the soothing touch, Lincoln ached for the little girl who had lost so much of herself so early.

Everything she’d done to protect the North kids—including her claws-out reaction when he’d accused Gideon of starting the fire—made perfect sense. Because she knew exactly how it felt to be alone.

And he wasn’t going to let her go through that again.

“No, Pastor, I won’t talk to Stefanie about giving up her kids.”

“They’re not her kids.” The pastor spoke quietly. “They’re runaways, and they don’t belong in Phillips.”

Then Lincoln might not belong in Phillips either. The words were nearly on his lips. But from the distance, the sound of a Skilsaw and hammering filtered into the house as his crew finished the inside of his movie theater. Next week the electrical equipment would arrive, and after that, the interior, the seating.

And just this morning, he’d started to believe that he might pull this off. The festival, hiding his MS, and even having Stefanie Noble as a permanent fixture in his life.

Pastor Pike must have sensed his indecision—apparently Lincoln had lost the ability to conceal his emotions. The pastor stood and held out his hand. “I think, if you mull on it for a while, you’ll see that this is the best option for all of us.”

Lincoln never thought he’d see the day when a man of the cloth threatened him, but as Pike held out his hand, that’s exactly what Lincoln saw in the gesture.
Help . . . or we don’t help you.

The feeling left him hollow as he showed Pike to the door.

CHAPTER 13

T
HIS COULDN’T BE
happening again. Stefanie sat in her truck, outside the home of the make-do vet’s office in Phillips.

Poisoned. Clancy had been poisoned. Maybe in his food, the vet said, although with the mounds of scraps and other ranch debris the dog snacked on, who knew? Besides, all of Stefanie’s hearing had been cut off after Clancy’s heart had stopped.

Thankfully, Piper had taken Macey and Haley back to the ranch hours ago, before they could watch Clancy suffer.

Someone had
poisoned
their dog. Stefanie cupped her hands over her face, pushing the heels into her eyes, fighting to hold back the tears, but it didn’t matter.

Someone had killed their dog. And she hadn’t been able to do a thing about it. Hadn’t even recognized it. How long had Clancy been sick? If she’d stayed in school, become the veterinarian she’d hoped to be, then maybe . . . well, maybe she would have seen the signs. Could have saved Clancy.

And Sunny.

And her dreams.

Maybe she wouldn’t be stuck on a ranch watching life pass her by.

It didn’t matter that Clancy hadn’t been around for long, that Nick had brought him home from the pound a year ago; she still loved the mongrel Labrador-shepherd mix. His death stirred up the voices she’d kept buried so long.

Quitter. Failure. Nobody.

Then she heard the echo of Macey’s words drilling into her brain:
“Lincoln Cash does. He didn’t want us here, remember?”

Lincoln wouldn’t hurt her dog, would he? She felt nearly sick as she pressed her hands to her stomach. Why would he? Unless he wanted her to think that perhaps one of the kids had done it. Unless he still wanted Gideon and the kids to leave. . . .

She spun gravel as she backed the pickup out of the lot and onto the dirt road. She could see Lincoln’s glowing monstrosity on the hill, a garish display of wealth and arrogance. Dusk had long passed, and twilight hovered on the horizon, backdropping Lincoln’s house in a final ta-da. That she hadn’t arrived to help him today should have elicited at least a phone call, but of course, Lincoln wasn’t about to chase her. After all, he was the movie star, the hot commodity.

All this time had he been lying to her, using her? Maybe not like she’d been lied to and used in college, but using her all the same.

Defender of the Oppressed.

Dances with Horses.

Cash’s Leading Lady.

She’d believed these names a little too much. Now they told her who she really was. A fool.

She was just a back-hills girl from eastern Montana. He was probably surprised she could speak in full sentences. Oh, boy, she really had fooled herself. What had she been thinking? She could see the headlines now: “Lincoln Cash’s Latest Fling Is a Hick.”

She turned into the Big K and floored it up the driveway. The lights from the house fractured the growing darkness, and she saw more light coming from the theater—aka Cathedral to Lincoln Cash—as she drove by.

Braking, she slammed the truck into park, turned it off, and launched herself from the seat. Tears stung her eyes, and she bolted toward the house. Not even bothering to knock, she barreled inside and caught Lincoln in his kitchen, sitting on a stool. He half rose, shock on his face.

“Are you still trying to get rid of Gideon and his sisters? Macey told me that Gideon thinks the pastor is going to ask you to fire him. Is it true? Did Pastor Pike tell you to get rid of Gideon?” She stood there, waiting for an answer, reading it all in his expression.

Lincoln’s jaw tightened, and he glanced at Karen. “Let’s talk in my office.” He reached for her, but she yanked away from him. She must have been a little more forceful than she’d thought because he fell forward, catching himself on a chair. But he deserved it, the jerk, the arrogant, two-faced—

“Yes, Pike was here. And, yes, he asked me to get rid of Gideon.” Lincoln’s voice emerged in a low growl. He seemed to be breathing harder than her slight expression of violence merited. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Can we please go into my office?”

“No!” Stefanie whirled, intending to make an escape before she heard one more suave Lincoln Cash word. “I don’t want to talk to—”

His arm curled around her again, a grip that seemed more desperate than strong. “Please, Karen, will you excuse us?”

Karen turned off the heat for whatever she stirred on the stove and walked away.

Stefanie waited until she was out of the room, then rounded on Lincoln, her emotions catching up to her, hot and full. “You . . . lied to me. I can’t believe I fell for it again, this hypnotic Lincoln charm that makes a girl believe in—”

“What did I do?”

“And to think I thought it was real, that you really liked me.”

“I do really like you!”

He had both his hands on her arms now, and she hit him hard in the chest. For such a tough guy, he winced, but it didn’t remotely match the pain in her chest.

“Stef, stop it!”

She broke away from him again with a little shove. This time he went down, catching his chin on the edge of the chair.

She stared in horror as he landed on the floor, blood spurting from his cut chin. He clamped a hand over it and closed his eyes.

The air went out of her anger. “Linc—oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it.” He grabbed the chair, using it to pull himself off the floor, still holding his chin. She watched as he limped over to the sink—wow, she’d really hurt him—and pressed a wet towel against his chin.

Everything inside her grew cold. “I’m sorry.”

Lincoln held up a hand, turning away from her. She watched his wide back, those strong shoulders rising and falling as he gazed out into the darkness. She could see his reflection in the window,
and something about his expression scared her. Resignation. Even . . . regret?

What if . . . what if she was right? What if he
didn’t
want her? She had come here hoping he’d deny her accusations, but seeing the look on his face, as if he’d made a colossal mistake letting her into his life . . .

She moved around the counter and stood beside him, putting her hand on his strong arm. “Someone poisoned my dog.”

He glanced down at her, and what seemed like real concern filled his eyes. But he said nothing.

“I thought . . . well, Macey said that some people in town wanted to get rid of Gideon and that you might do it.” Stefanie put her hand on her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I just let my fears run away with my brain. I thought . . .” She couldn’t tell him what she thought. Couldn’t admit that an old shame had swept over her, and her anger at herself had combined with her grief to cause her to accuse Lincoln of something she knew he’d never do.

Lincoln’s expression softened. “Thought what?”

She bent her head and, to her horror, began to sob. Loud, unbecoming sobs. She turned but felt Lincoln’s arm around her shoulder, pulling her back to him.

His face came near hers. “Shh. Thought what?”

“I gotta go.” Her voice sounded as if it might be caught in a vise. More than anything she wanted to stay. Needed to stay.

Stefanie bowed her head and felt Lincoln’s lips on her hair. Then he took her hand and led her to the sofa in the family room, settling her down beside him, turning her so that she nestled in his arms.

“Okay, Slugger, now that I’m not going to hit any sharp objects, go ahead and unload.”

She turned into his chest and let herself cry.

Gideon sat in his beat-up clunker and called himself a fool. Everything inside him hurt—his bones, his eyes, especially his heart—as he watched Libby serve the last of the patrons in the diner. He’d fixed his car a couple of days ago—the only decent skill his father had ever taught him—using the money he’d earned from Lincoln. He’d spent the last two nights sitting outside Lolly’s Diner, trying to scrounge up the courage to ask Libby what he’d done to make her angry.

With Libby, for the first time, he felt like someone . . . worthwhile. If a girl like Libby could like him, could see that he wasn’t the guy everyone labeled him, then maybe he didn’t have to live with those labels.

But in the end, she didn’t want him either.

He could see her through the glass, wearing a brown shirt to match her hair, and his chest clenched as she smiled at Luther and JB. That Luther was trouble. Thanks to his father, Gideon could spot a guy who wouldn’t hesitate to beat a woman. When Luther began making rude comments about Libby at the work site, it had taken everything inside Gideon not to go after the man with a nail gun. He’d thought, when Luther got fired, that maybe he and Libby had escaped him, until JB mentioned that they’d been hanging out at the diner. Probably just to torment Gideon, but it had all his protective instincts firing.

He’d just sit in the car and make sure that Libby got home okay. Every night, if he had to.

Libby had braided her hair tonight, two pokey braids that stuck out from behind her ears. And her smile—she put everything into her smile, her eyes, her posture. He ached for that smile.

He could even imagine her laughter. He fought the swell of envy, focusing on the sound of her giggle in his memory, the way it had made him feel as if he were soaring.

Thirty minutes later, he watched as Libby finished serving Luther and JB, then began to close for the night. JB strutted out to his truck and roared away. Luther sauntered over to the Buffalo Saloon.

Gideon kept an eye on the saloon as Libby turned off the Open sign, mopped the floor, flipped off the lights, and disappeared into the back room.

Moments later, he saw her appear outside in the alley. She had her sweater wrapped around her, and now, instead of getting into a car, she strolled down the street in the direction of the church and the parsonage. It being a cool night and a short stroll, Gideon imagined that she’d walked to work.

He intended to wait until she was down a block to turn on his car. To his shock, she crossed the street right toward him, opened his door, and slid inside.

His heart, his breath, stopped right there as she turned to him, a soft smile on her face. “Stalking me?”

Gideon barely managed a nod.

She laughed. “I saw you out here last night too. Why don’t you come in?”

He gripped the steering wheel, everything inside him going still. Why had he thought she couldn’t take care of herself? Apparently Libby had no qualms about walking home late at night. He’d been overreacting, of course.

“I’m sorry. . . . I was just worried.” He made a face. “Sometimes some of the guys at the work site say things. . . .”

“They’re guys.” She shrugged. “I’m used to cowboys.”

This kind of talk could hardly be limited to cowboys, but Gideon said nothing.

“But you’re very sweet,” Libby said with that entire-body smile.

Great. Just what he’d hoped to be. Sweet. “I’ll drive you home.” He reached to start the car.

But she put a hand on his arm. “No, you can’t do that.” Her voice held a hint of sadness. “My dad—”

“He doesn’t like me.”

“He doesn’t know you.”

“Maybe if he got—”

She put her hand on his mouth. “Shh.” As he watched, frozen, she leaned over and, taking his hand from the steering wheel, put it on her waist. Then, because he still couldn’t move, she kissed him. Softly. Perfectly.

He wanted to pull her to himself and touch those cute braids and kiss her like he’d been dreaming of kissing her since that day in the diner, but something inside him held him back.

Maybe it was her hand on his chest, exerting just enough pressure to warn him off. Or maybe it was the way her other hand held his, not letting it roam. Or perhaps the innocence in her eyes as she backed away from him.

“That was just to let you know that it’s not you, Gideon.”

What wasn’t him? That she couldn’t see him? Because it
felt
like him. If he was some hick cowboy who had grown up in this town, her father would let her see him. Then the pastor wouldn’t
even blink an eye about him driving up to her house, knocking on the front door, and picking her up for a date, would he? Gideon tried to deny the taste of resentment in his throat, but he couldn’t swallow it away.