Finding Stefanie (9 page)

He should assume, then, that he wouldn’t see Stefanie Noble either, based on her overprotective reaction last night. Did she always have such a soft spot for troublemakers?

Oh yeah, he’d forgotten about her brother Rafe. Maybe with him headed on the straight and narrow, she needed a new project.

Pulling out his cell phone again, Lincoln walked up the hill, checking the signal. He allowed himself to rest a couple of times, and by the time he reached the top, he had full reception. But before he called his agent, he stood for just a moment and breathed.

The crisp air in Montana always smelled of freedom. Of wide-open spaces, grasses, and flowers, of animals and the wind off the western mountains, and today a tinge of smoke from last night’s inferno. Healing air seeped into his lungs, filled them, and he let out the slightest breath, then inhaled deep . . . deeper . . . holding it.

Letting it fill his lungs, his hollow places.

From this vantage point, he could make out the hazy purple of the Bighorns in the west, the rolling green hills cut away as if with a giant spoon, leaving ragged ravines and drying streambeds littered with boulders.

As if resenting his moment of quiet, the phone rang in his hand. He looked at the display. Elise.

Yippee.

He opened it, already pursing his lips. “Elise.”

“Oh, Linc, where did you run to? We had the most rockin’ party last night—I totally missed you.”

“Thanks. But I’m involved in a project right now, and I have to focus all my attention on it.”

“Oh, I love projects! Are you writing a screenplay? Let me help. I’ve always wanted to write a film. Please. Besides, I miss you.”

“No . . . no. This is something I have to do by myself.” Not including the demolition team and a cleanup crew and a team of builders, due to arrive later this week with Delia. If Elise showed up, he’d have a three-ring circus—caterers, builders, press . . . and an illness that wouldn’t stay quiet for long.

But making Elise angry wouldn’t do him any favors either. She had a way of landing in the tabloids and dragging everyone else with her. “Listen, I miss you too. But you . . . you need to move on.”

He heard silence at the other end, could see Elise’s pretty face tighten in a scowl.

“I’ll call you . . . when . . . I’m finished with my project.” Now he was the one making a face, but he still had the acting chops to add earnestness to his voice. “I promise.”

Elise gave a deep sigh, one she should have reserved for the set. “Okay. I’ll be waiting.” She hung up.

Yeah, sure. She’d pine away for him while shopping on the Sunset Strip and eating dinner at Spago and hanging out with her A-list cronies. It would be tough.

Lincoln fielded a call from his agent. He’d been through five agents since Dex had cast him for his first two-bit gig. This latest guy had been in the industry for thirty years and promised to help him transition from action flicks to drama, but so far, he’d only racked up an expense sheet of dinners with directors and producers. As usual, his agent had a lineup of action scripts for Lincoln’s consideration.

Lincoln turned him down, then scrolled through his voice mail. His contractor had called, returning Lincoln’s message from last
night, and Alyssa’s nurse, Nellie, had left her usual day-end report. Lincoln had long ago stopped asking the doctors to call and simply put one of the day nurses on the lookout for Alyssa, in exchange for a monthly check. It was a win-win. According to Nellie, Alyssa had begun to have night terrors. Lincoln scrubbed his hand down his face. Were the memories finally starting to surface after a decade?

Deleting the messages, he stood there overlooking his land, in his mind seeing the house, the stables, the fresh start.

Seeing everything he’d dreamed about, way back when he’d cut through the junkyard on his way home from school, hiding behind old washing machines and cars from E-bro Quesada, the local gangbanger who had his sights on Lincoln. Lincoln wasn’t sure exactly why E-bro had picked him to torture. Maybe because they were neighbors or because Lincoln—Lewis—had run the first time E-bro knocked him off his bike.

In a way, Lincoln had been running ever since.

Speaking of junk—what was that rusty Impala doing in his drive?

Lincoln hiked down to it and peered in the window. A couple of empty soda bottles, paper, and a bag from McDonald’s lay crushed on the floor. He reached for the handle and slid inside, into a memory so rich he could have been back at the trailer park, sitting in his mother’s beater Volkswagen, hot-wiring it for a Friday night joyride.

In fact . . . yes, wires dangled below the steering wheel as if it had been transported through time. Or across state lines, because he’d noticed the South Dakota plates on the car. The kid should have known to switch them out with a different car’s first chance he got. Lincoln only assumed the car belonged to the punk from last night, but he felt secure in that assumption. Secure enough that
nausea crept through him, remembering how Stefanie had taken the lot home with her last night.

So they could cut her throat while she slept. Perfect.

He couldn’t dismiss the image of Stefanie Noble taking him out last night, those dark eyes turning him into rubble, that feisty mouth telling him exactly where he could take his pomp and circumstance.

Now, clear of the pain, he had to admit that she intrigued him. And in a way, she’d earned his respect.

The sooner he got this car back to her troublemaking houseguest, the sooner they could leave. And then he didn’t have to be the bad guy and call Social Services.

He grabbed the wires and had the car started in moments, the talent easily returning. He’d have to ask Stefanie for a ride back, but, well . . . He smiled and turned around in the drive, heading for the Silver Buckle.

He could be a hero. She just needed to give him a chance.

“Are you just going to let them go?” Piper stood at the door, one eyebrow raised at Stefanie as Gideon and his little family hiked down the driveway.

What was Stefanie supposed to do? Chase after them, throw a rope around them, hog-tie them, and drag them back to the house? Gideon obviously didn’t want their help . . . but maybe it wasn’t up to him.

She and Nick and Piper had had a little chat this morning. Apparently, despite Nick’s willingness to take in Gideon and his sisters after the fire, he didn’t like the idea of letting a group of strangers in the house permanently. Still, he could read the despera
tion in their postures and had agreed to move with Piper into the house—a move that Stefanie had been anticipating.

She’d happily take the sofa forever or even move to the hunting cabin if . . . if Gideon just turned around.

Maybe she should call Social Services. Get them into the system, a real home. Only, as she let that thought settle, she hated it. Really hated it.

Or maybe she just hated herself for buying into the insane idea that she could make a difference in their lives. She was idealistic—Rafe and Nick had always called her a dreamer. But how could she fight the broken look on Gideon’s face, like one of the quarter horses she’d rescued, afraid to trust, too much history in his eyes to let her help him? She loved working with hurting animals, seeing their trust, their hope restored . . . and everything inside her longed to reach out to this family and give them a safe place.

Macey had the look of a scared filly, the way she nearly drew into herself, encased in black, from her hair to her toes. Stefanie ached just looking at her.

And then there was Haley. Under all that dirt a look of starvation leeched from her eyes and from the way she clutched that ragged cat. It was all Stefanie could do not to scoop her up and tuck her head under her chin and hold her until the hunger in her expression vanished.

“Gideon!” Stefanie launched off the porch, ran down the road. Gideon didn’t turn, just kept walking. “Gideon, c’mon! Don’t go.”

She saw his head begin to hang, his shoulders tense. If he were a horse, he’d be turned from her and running round and round in the ring. And if he were a horse, she’d wait until he figured out he had nowhere to run.

But maybe Gideon had already figured that out because his step slowed.

She caught up to him, noticing the whitened grip on Haley’s hand. The little girl had tears dripping off her chin. Macey didn’t look at Stefanie as she stood behind Gideon.

“Listen, Gideon. Don’t go. You can stay here. I know you’re on the run—”

“We’re not runaways. We’re just traveling; that’s all.” He pulled Haley close to him, putting his arm around her.

Okay, so they were all going to dodge the truth for a while. “Well, you probably need some cash, then. I could use a hand.” Stefanie gestured to the corral, toward her new quarter horses. “I have three horses I need to train and a bunch of calves that need branding and tagging, and of course, there’re always jobs to be done around here—”

“I got a job.” He wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Yes, I know you do. But maybe you might like another—”

“I’ll do it.” Macey didn’t even lift her head as she spoke but sighed, looking at the horses. “I’ll work for you.”

She had the posture of an indentured servant. Stefanie felt like a slave trader. But she also didn’t have a plethora of options. “Uh . . . that would be great, Macey. I could sure use your help.”

Macey lifted a shoulder, as if she didn’t care one way or another.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Gideon said.

For a second, those words coming from him, a guy who’d burned down a house just twelve hours ago, made Stefanie want to laugh. But she managed a straight face and nodded. “No trouble.”

“Don’t go calling Social Services or anything.”

Oh,
that
kind of trouble. Her humor vanished. “Where are you from?”

“We don’t have parents to worry about us, if that’s what you’re asking,” Gideon said, lifting his chin a little and meeting her eyes. His arm went tighter around Haley. “But . . . you can’t have Haley.”

Stefanie felt as if he’d hit her again, except low, right in the gut. She looked at the little girl, at the way she curled into her brother, even if she didn’t put her arm around him. Had someone threatened to take Haley away from them? She put a rein on her emotions when she said, “No, Gideon, I won’t take Haley.”

Gideon said nothing, drawing a breath, glancing down at his younger sister, then around at the ranch. Stefanie smiled at him, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

She heard a motor behind him and looked over his shoulder. An old blue station wagon came into view, and it took a moment for her brain to register who was driving.

It couldn’t possibly be Lincoln in that beater, could it? She folded her arms across her chest, everything inside her tensing, not sure exactly what to say to him . . . or how.

The car stopped, and yes, Lincoln got out, awash in his movie star glow. He wore a pair of dark glasses—though the sun had yet to make a decent appearance today—a leather jacket, faded jeans, and cowboy boots. He didn’t smile as he approached Gideon. “This your car, kid?”

Gideon glared at him. “Might be.”

Lincoln gave a huff that Stefanie read as annoyance. “Well, I got a proposition for you. I won’t call the law if you and your sisters get in it and leave. Right now.” He reached into his back pocket
and took out his wallet. “In fact, here’s some traveling money.” He pulled out what looked like three hundred-dollar bills.

Then, although Stefanie had lost the power of speech, even her ability to move left her when he looked at her and flashed a smile. “See, I can be a nice guy.”

For a moment, she choked, really felt the oxygen cutting off as she saw herself mentally leaping at him and squeezing both hands around his neck.

Stefanie glanced at Gideon, hoping that maybe he’d gone deaf, but no, he was staring at the money in Lincoln’s hand as if he might actually be considering Lincoln’s offer.

That was
enough
. “What is your problem?”

Lincoln had the audacity to look at her, his mouth open. “Hey, I’m trying to help—”

“And exactly where are they going to go?” Stefanie had balled her fists at her sides, but she wanted to use them on his astonished expression. “But you don’t really care, do you?”

“They could get to Sheridan or Billings, hole up in an apartment. He could find a job—”

“He
has
a job! At Lolly’s. And he doesn’t need your money!”

Although, based on the hungry look in Gideon’s eye, maybe that wasn’t exactly accurate.

“Listen—” Lincoln grabbed Stefanie’s arm, pulling her away. “You do
not
want these kids around.”

She yanked her arm away from his grip so hard that she saw him wobble. “What, I lost the power to think for myself? When did you decide you knew what was best for me . . . or even know me? I hardly remember you, Mr. Cash. And now suddenly you want to decide who my friends are?”

“These kids aren’t your friends, and yes, I do.” He kept his voice low, but she detected something desperate simmering in his tone. Not only that, but the way he said it . . . sort of protective and caring . . .

She needed a good shake. “Look, I’m not afraid of giving someone a chance. Of letting them into my life, my world. Of trusting them until they can prove their trust and investing myself, regardless of their past. These kids need someone, and that’s all I care about.”