Reclaiming Nick

by Susan May Warren

  “I won’t need the paper after I send in my audition tape to Wanted: Justice.”

  The cable show had contacted her twice after she’d won her second award and again last week after she’d returned from Wellesley, saying she had just the “spunk” they were hunting for in their Wanted: Justice series. Living in Seattle would put her about as far as she could get from her childhood, short of going overseas. And dedicating her career to helping people find justice struck at the very core of her life goals.

  Even if she did wonder at times if she weren’t in three leagues over her head.

  If she was honest, yes, there were moments when she didn’t exactly like the person she had to be in order to enact that justice.

  It seemed Carter, as usual, had ESP. For a restaurant critic, he had uncanny psychic abilities. “Piper, are you sure this is what you want? Ever since your mother’s death and then Jimmy’s arr—”

  “This is exactly what I want—a chance to strike back at all those bullies in the world who think they can run over people without a thought. Who use people for their own gain.” Who take out their anger on women and small children. She loosened her grip around the steering wheel. Oh no, her stomach had started to burn. She fished around in her purse for an antacid.

  “As long as you don’t end up one of them.”

  Carter’s words had the effect of a jab to the ribs. “No chance of that,” she said, keeping the pain from her voice and hating how close to her fears he’d struck.

  “I’m holding you to that promise. But I’m a little worried you’re going to starve. I’ll bet they don’t have Thai food and a Starbucks in Cow Land.”

  She popped the antacid into her mouth, crunching and washing it down with a gulp of bottled water. “I’m the queen of adaptation. I can live without my tofu and chai. For a week or two.”

  “Do you seriously think it’ll take only a week?”

  “I’m hoping less. If anyone knows how to cut to the truth—”

  “Piper, are you sure this is a good idea? Because if you’re right, then this guy is a murderer.”

  Piper tried to ignore the churning Carter’s words started inside her. According to the police report—and collaborated by witnesses—Noble had an argument with the victim outside a bar only two hours before her time of death. It felt so convenient that Jenny had gone inside and hooked up with Piper’s brother. And even more convenient that Noble had been the one to pry from Jimmy a so-called confession. Which Jimmy later recanted. She’d bet every award she’d earned that Noble had some hand in Jenny’s death even if it wasn’t directly, making this little excursion dangerous indeed.

  But she’d vowed long ago to stand up for the innocents, to expose the bullies of this world. She wasn’t the same girl who had hidden under her bed, hoping to be invisible. Her half brother had his faults, but she could be dead right now if it hadn’t been for his courage and the way he had stood up for her to their father. She felt partly to blame for the mess Jimmy’s life had become. If only he’d escaped with her and her mother, maybe his life would have turned out better. This was the only way she could think of to apologize. To show that she believed in him. To put things right and free Jimmy to move on. “I don’t know if Noble actually killed her, Carter . . . but he didn’t even try to find her killer. Simply pointed the finger at my brother and pulled the trigger.”

  “Well, he’s not going to be exactly thrilled with someone sneaking around his past, digging up dirt.”

  “Yeah, my brother wasn’t exactly thrilled with losing five years of his life either.” Five years. She’d just gotten out of graduate school when he’d been arrested. She’d been ashamed. And a part of her wondered . . . even believed . . .

  “Be careful, Piper. You yourself said this guy had bully written all over him. And I don’t want you to go through—”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve got three years of Kempo karate under my belt, and I’ve got you watching my back.”

  “Not from a thousand miles away. You call me every—”

  His voice died and with it the reception. Great. She’d just been disarmed of her secret weapon for this assignment—Carter and his culinary skills. How was she supposed to pull off filling the post of cookie of the Silver Buckle when she could barely scramble eggs? “Carter!”

  She tossed her cell phone onto the passenger seat. At least she still had her copy of Joy of Cooking and the memory of her mother feeding the masses at the school cafeteria. If she had to learn to stir a pot of biscuits and gravy in order to nail Nick for his crimes, it seemed doable. She hoped Carter hadn’t oversold her. When he’d called, acting as the director of Bon Appétit, a cooking school in Kalispell looking to place their students in summer jobs, Stefanie Noble hadn’t been even slightly suspicious about someone answering her ad so soon. And Piper’s list of “qualifications” had eliminated every other candidate.

  But what if they discovered her dismal cooking abilities? She hoped that the cowboys’ years in the middle of nowhere had hardened their taste buds. Besides, how picky could a bunch of cowpokes be?

  She maneuvered her Jeep Liberty to the middle of the road, gauging her passing options, and nearly lost an inch of paint from an oncoming Chevy Silverado.

  So, she wouldn’t pass for a while.

  She retrieved the map and traced her route. Although she’d exited on the wrong side of Custer National Forest, if she read her map right, thirty more miles would land her in Phillips. Then she simply had to “veer left at Lolly’s, go past the Bumblebee, and when she got to a dead-end T, take a right.” No problem.

  Despite the feeling that she’d landed on the back side of nowhere, Piper had to admit that in the daylight and with plenty of population around her, eastern Montana had a beauty all its own. The sky stretched across the horizon, turning magenta in the west as it fell into the grasp of the hazy Bighorn Mountains. The first blooms of color filled the draws and gullies—blue-and-white wildflowers amid lime-tinted grass. Now and again a bluff rose from the prairie, the earth rough and dark along the exposed edge.

  Barbed wire fringed the highway, dissecting the fields into manageable plots, and in many she saw black or red cattle, some grazing at piles of hay, others staring at her with white faces and dark beady eyes. Jack pine and black spruce spired from hillsides amid tumbles of rock, and an occasional red or brown barn trimmed in white reminded her of the old spaghetti westerns.

  It all brought to mind her childhood cowgirl fantasies of being Calamity Jane, living by the Old West code of honor and independence. Of justice.

  Maybe in this part of the world God would help her find a small piece of that justice. And maybe, finally, she’d also find a measure of peace. Piper glanced briefly at the heavens . . . wondering, hoping.

  In spite of her mother’s prayers for Piper’s so-called salvation, she’d never had God’s attention. She didn’t know why she looked for it now—she’d figured out her own path to redemption.

  Turning off Highway 59, Piper passed a weathered Welcome to Phillips sign. At first glance, she decided the town needed an Extreme Makeover episode and a Starbucks at the very least. She located Lolly’s—an old railroad dining car that might have been novel in a big city but here looked like it had been left for scrap—and hung a left, passing a service station and empty rodeo stands. She’d attended a few rodeos while doing an investigative piece about the dangers of bull riding. Even met a few of the cowboys.

  She wasn’t impressed. Although she’d had a plethora of offers from gentlemanly to seedy, she hadn’t entertained even the barest of rodeo-romance fantasies. The last thing she wanted in her life was a man who loved his horse more than his woman. Cowboys might come with muscles and Western charisma, but she’d as soon cuddle up with a cactus than a man with arrogance where his brains should be.

  That assessment had nothing to do with the fact that her last boyfriend—during college—had nearly gotten her killed running his International Scout pickup into a tree after lying to her a
bout the number of beers he’d consumed.

  Men—especially cowboys—came packin’ trouble. And she’d had her share of that, thanks.

  She drove past a neighborhood of tract homes and watched the eyes of a local follow her as his dogs lit out after her pint-sized SUV. Clearly the town of Phillips also needed a video-rental store, if not a theater. Dust plumed behind her, evidence of the dry, cold winter. She’d read something about a drought in the area and guessed that the lack of snowfall and plummeting temperatures had to hurt cattle country.

  Not that she worried about America’s beef supply. After her stint at the stockyards she’d vowed never to eat another piece of meat again—particularly beef. But Kalispell hadn’t exactly embraced the vegetarian lifestyle, so she’d been existing on Caesar salads and Thai vegetable stir-fry for the past year. Not knowing what to expect at the ranch, she’d packed a goody bag of fruit, nuts, and ramen noodles.

  Piper motored past a spread that advertised bulls on its sign and felt a surge of hope when she saw two Bs. Oh. Double B, not bumblebee. She needed her ears checked.

  She slowed as she came to the T, then turned right. The Silver Buckle sign, an oval “buckle” with a green carved S in the middle, swung in the slight breeze between two peeled cottonwoods. The driveway held no splendor, no giant pines like she’d imagined, no split-rail fences to line the path to the house. Then again, this wasn’t an Old West television show, and the glistening pool of water to her left wasn’t a sparkling lake but a cattle watering tank.

  To her surprise, however, the main house looked pure Old West romance—two stories of logs, a window dormer off the side, an overhanging porch, a stone chimney, and even a stack of firewood by the side-door entrance. Beyond that, she saw more outbuildings, corrals, even a bunkhouse. Horses hung their heads over the tall corral, nickering to her in welcome. For an uneasy moment, Piper felt charmed.

  She pulled up, stopped the Jeep. What. Was. She. Doing?

  Justice. This was about justice.

  But what if Noble recognized her? She’d been so careful last week in Wellesley—wearing a brunette wig and her city clothes— and she’d changed her name years ago. Noble couldn’t possibly link her to Jimmy, couldn’t possibly suspect her agenda.

  She found her smile, the one that had disarmed a ringleader of a sweatshop importing illegal aliens, and stepped out of the SUV, slamming the door. The smell of cow manure and hay caught her nose.

  A young woman came out of the house, pulling on a coat. Smiling, she appeared not much younger than Piper, with long black hair in two braids and deep brown eyes. She came down the stairs. And right behind her, wariness in his expression, a coatless Nick Noble.

  So he’d beat her here. He looked exactly as she remembered—tall, with flannel shirtsleeves rolled up over strong forearms, and wearing accusation in his dark eyes. He shoved his hands into his back pockets and didn’t smile.

  Don’t look at him. All the same, she felt his stare boring into her, peeling away her confidence. “Hello,” Piper said, extending her hand to the woman, “my name’s Piper. Piper Sullivan.”

  “Stefanie Noble.” The young woman met her handshake with only a moment’s pause. “I’m sorry. I thought—”

  “You thought I was a man.”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure. I guess when I said the job was a trail job, I assumed . . .” Stefanie frowned, looking at Nick. “I had planned on putting you in the bunkhouse, but, ah . . . that won’t work.”

  Noble’s suspicious look never wavered, and a chill brushed through Piper.

  Stefanie regained her smile. “No worries. We’re glad you’re here, Piper. With our new operation, we need to class up our menu a bit. Your teacher spoke highly of you.”

  Of course he did. Piper had taken Carter out for dinner, left him her entire DVD collection, and filled up his Starbucks card. “Thank you.”

  “The first group doesn’t come for a few weeks so you’ll have plenty of time to get your supplies and settle in.”

  “That sounds great.” Piper didn’t mention that by then she hoped to have enough dirt on Nick to bury him. No way did she intend to stick around and cook over a campfire. Not unless they were content with roasted marshmallows for every meal. “I can’t wait to get started.” She kept her smile, glancing at Nick, who came off the porch to join Stefanie, his eyes still pinned to Piper.

  “This is my brother Nick,” Stefanie said. “Nick, this is our new cookie.”

  When Nick held out his hand, Piper forced herself to take it, hating the feel of his skin. She barely met his perusal, forcing from her expression the derision that filled her throat.

  As his dark eyes lingered on her, he cocked his head and frowned. “Have we possibly . . . met before?”

  CHAPTER 3

  “ARE YOU SURE we haven’t met before?” Nick had been a cop for three years before he’d turned in his shield, unable to face the man in the mirror. And in that time, he’d learned to listen to his instincts. Something about the petite woman’s smile, those blue eyes, and the lift of her chin nudged a memory inside him. But it wasn’t enough to spit out a name or a place.

  She frowned, pushing her shoulder-length straw blonde hair from her face. “I don’t think so.” Then she shrugged. “Are you in the restaurant industry?”

  “Only recently,” he answered. She didn’t look much like a chef—weren’t they supposed to be slightly padded? This woman hid any discernible curves under a new leather jacket and a fisherman’s sweater, and in her clingy low-rise jeans, she looked like she spent more time running from food than tasting it. If she did cook, it would be at an upscale B and B, not down on the ranch, frying in cast iron over an open fire.

  His scrutiny took in not only her attire but the way she held herself—jaw tight, hands balled in her jacket pockets, her body half turned in a slightly defensive posture. He could have sworn that he saw a flash of fear in her eyes as he’d come off the porch.

  He flicked a glance at Stefanie, one eyebrow up, hoping for an explanation. “I s’pose this is who you were expecting earlier?”

  “Miss Sullivan is going to cook for the groups, Nick. We need a little high class to entice the tourists.” Stefanie turned to him, hope in her eyes. “Ah . . . I know you just arrived, but I think we need to put her in your room.”

  “What?” He’d been in the kitchen pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee and asking about Rafe when they’d heard the Jeep pull up. Hadn’t even dragged in his duffel bags, hadn’t strolled through the house, smelling the memories, hadn’t heard a whisper from the ghosts. He didn’t hanker to playing catch-up. “She’s staying here?”

  “Well, I can’t rightly put her in the bunkhouse,” Stef continued, apparently ignoring his dark look. She turned back to Piper. “Your teacher says you’re nearly ready to graduate?”

  Piper nodded. “This will give me great experience and help me launch the next phase of my career. I appreciate the opportunity.”

  Stefanie nearly glowed.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Nick said to Piper, “I need a word with my sister.” He caught Stefanie by the elbow, dragging her toward the house.

  Stefanie twisted out of his grip the second they reached the porch. “What?”

  “We have to talk about this. Tourists? Stef, c’mon—” Although he hadn’t seen her for a decade and had been back less than thirty minutes, he knew instinctively to brace himself.

  Stefanie’s dark Noble eyes flashed. “Stop, Nick. I don’t recall inviting you here. You haven’t set foot on Silver Buckle property for ten years. You haven’t shown one iota of interest in keeping this place alive, and even when we needed you, you couldn’t be bothered to cross your shadow and head home. I’m glad to see you—” she took a deep breath—“I’m so glad to see you. But I have a ranch to run. And the only way we’re going to keep it running is to figure out another source of income—”

  “But city slickers? What, a dude ranch? I remember that movie, Stef. Jack Palance wasn’t havi
ng any fun.”

  “It’s not a dude ranch. It’s a chance to spend a week on a working ranch. It’s a family vacation with purpose. The first family is already registered, and they’re from Chicago, looking for a Western adventure for their kids. We’ll take them on a roundup, have a minirodeo, go on a few trail rides as well as incorporate them into our daily life.”

  “So we’re babysitting city folks all summer long.”

  “I’d prefer to call it educating.”

  Nick glanced at Piper, dropping his voice. “That lady looks like a stiff wind could knock her clear to South Dakota. Do you seriously think she’ll be able to cook over an open fire?”

  “She comes highly recommended.”

  “So does a weekend retreat at a spa—it doesn’t mean that it fits my lifestyle. She doesn’t belong out here. Besides, what happened to Chet?”

  “Chet died. Right before Dad.” She folded her arms across her chest and looked away, as if holding back a wave of ache.

  He winced. “Sorry.”

  “Stay out of it, Nick. Daddy left me to run this ranch, and we need the cash. The hunting lodge has always brought in enough to tide us over—I’m simply ramping it up a notch. I’m not going to lose the ranch—”

  “No, you’re not. Because I’m going to make sure Cole St. John doesn’t get any of it!”

  Stefanie stilled, her mouth slightly agape, blinking at him. “What does Cole have to do with this?”

  Nick shot another look at Piper, who was studying the horses, a slight smile on her face, as if she might be in a romantic Hollywood Western. He had a sick feeling that he might have to get used to that sort of look once they opened the Buckle to cowboy wannabes.

  He lowered his voice. “Dad’s will. I know St. John has half our property—land we need to feed our cattle. And I know that he swindled Dad into leaving it to him.”

  For a moment Stefanie seemed to lose the power of speech, her mouth moving but no sound emerging.

  He filled in the words for her. “This isn’t the place or time.”