Reclaiming Nick

by Susan May Warren

  Whatever she did to turn him prickly side out, Piper intended to fix it. She took his hand, slipped her foot into the stirrup, and, ignoring the heartbeat filling her throat, swung up behind him. “He needs to find someone more his type,” she quipped.

  Nick didn’t laugh.

  The man had a serious glitch in his funny bone. Piper sat there a moment before she realized that this mode of transportation didn’t come with a seat belt or even handles. Exactly where was she supposed to put her hands? The back of the saddle? Noble’s belt loops? The horns growing from his head?

  “Hang on to my jacket,” Nick said, as if reading her mind.

  She dug her fingers into the soft leather as he urged the horse forward. He smelled good—rebelliously good—like leather and a hint of soap. And he was tall, with broad shoulders and a straight posture. Strong, in a natural build sort of way.

  Yeah, strong enough to wring her stupid neck.

  “Thanks for . . . the rescue.” She heard the tremor of fear still rattling her voice.

  Nick urged his horse toward a gate in the fence. Behind her the bull stared at her with glassy black eyes.

  “How did you get in this pasture?” Nick’s voice still sounded peeved. She had angry beasts on all sides apparently.

  “You told me to go through this pasture,” she said, trying to keep accusation from her voice.

  “There’s a gate down the road from the cabin.” He shook his head. “Stay out of the bull field.”

  “Are you sure? Because it’s great exercise.”

  Silence.

  For the first time, she wondered if she would be able to chink his armor. She was reaching deep, tapping into her best stuff. “Sorry,” she added.

  He angled toward a gate in the field dissecting the barbed-wire fence. “I don’t suppose you want to rethink this job opportunity?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Well, out on the trail all day surrounded by cattle . . . you’re bound to make a boyfriend or two.”

  Was that humor? “Very funny. I didn’t know this was the bull field. Next time be more clear in your instructions. Unless, of course, you’re trying to get me killed.”

  Oops, her tone held way too much accusation. And she didn’t want this skittish horse to run for the hills. She added laughter, so he might know she was kidding. Really.

  Okay, so that wasn’t a funny quip to either of them.

  He reached the fence. “I have to dismount to open the gate.”

  “I’ll do it.” Piper held his arm as she slid off, opened the gate, then waited for him to pass through. “What were you doing in the bull field?” she asked as she closed it.

  “Looking for tracks from the wolves we heard last night.” He held out his hand, and she swung back up behind him.

  She held on to the back of his coat, putting as much space as possible between them. “Do you really think there are wolves out here?”

  “It’s been a brutal winter. I wouldn’t be surprised if we found dead stock in one of the outlying pastures.”

  “Will you shoot the wolves?” She replayed the lonely sound of the howls again, felt them sink into her bones.

  “We can’t. They’re endangered. We have to call DNR and ask them to remove them.”

  “That’s good.”

  “When a wolf takes down a cow, it not only costs the life of the cow but all the future lives the cow would have produced. Other cows panic, and it can cause a stampede, more deaths, and even stillbirths. Wolves aren’t the cute animals you see on National Geographic specials. They’re serious predators and a threat to every range rancher.”

  “Oh.” Yep, they’d be fast friends in no time at this rate.

  The saddle creaked in the silence that followed.

  “How long has your family owned the Silver Buckle?”

  He seemed to appreciate her change of subject. “My great-great-grandfather came out here in the early 1900s as a homesteader. He ran the ranch with his three sons, and it’s been in the family since then. My sister, brother, and I are the only remaining heirs.” His sentence ended in a curious sharpness that edged on anger.

  “Your ranch is beautiful,” she said. “This morning I saw an antelope.” She hummed the tail end of “Home on the Range.”

  He cut her off. “You should probably know that we have about three thousand head of cattle and eighty thousand acres.” He turned south, where the line of Bighorns ridged the horizon. “Our property goes from here down to the Wyoming state line, so if you get lost . . . keep going and you’ll end up in Sheridan.”

  “I won’t get lost.” She planned to stick like Velcro on Nick. And somehow dodge the pricklers he sent out. For pete’s sake, who didn’t like to sing along to “Home on the Range”?

  “And then there’re rattlesnakes. Stay away from the prairie-dog towns and sagebrush.”

  “Are you trying to scare me?”

  That silenced him.

  Great. Piper spotted black cattle lounging with babies standing nearby. They watched her, some chewing hay that dangled from their mouths. “What kind of cows do you have?”

  “Black Angus. My father liked to run a pure breed, and Angus cattle have a lot of fat along with their muscle. They make a good cut of meat.”

  It looked like now wasn’t the time to mention that she was a vegetarian. “Do you have any other cowboys working the ranch?”

  “My sister runs the place, and our cow boss, Dutch Johnson, runs the hired hands. Right now, we only have Old Pete, who has been with us since I was a kid. But we’ll bring in some day laborers for the roundup and keep a full bunkhouse on for the summer.”

  “What do you do? Shoe the horses?” She chuckled, hiding the fact that she knew he hadn’t been near a cow in a decade. She wanted to see how well he lied.

  “No. I’ve been . . . gone.”

  “What brought you back?”

  He urged the horse into a canter. “Curious, aren’t you, George?”

  Oh, I’m just getting started.

  Cole peered into the refrigerator, wondering what Maggy planned to make for supper. He knew how to cook steaks—he should probably take a couple out to thaw. How many times had he come in from a long day to be greeted by Maggy’s smile and a hot meal?

  He so didn’t deserve her love. His sore cheek from her stinging slap only reminded him of that.

  In fact, she hadn’t been meant for him at all. Perhaps this was simply God’s way of reminding him of the grace he’d been given—ten years of a life that didn’t belong to him.

  He closed the fridge, remembering Nick’s expression this morning and how everything inside him had raged between trying to take the guy down and pummeling him and running home to pull CJ and Maggy close.

  Nick Noble was back in town. This could mean only one thing. Trouble.

  Cole filled a glass with water and collapsed on the old orange sofa in the living room. He’d worn himself out with his jaunt to Saul’s. In the end, the lawyer had warned him that if Nick could find a reason for the will to be set aside, it probably would be. Especially given the rumors after Nick’s mother had passed on. Even Cole wondered why Bishop had left him the property.

  Cole closed his eyes, letting exhaustion overtake him. He should have known that Nick would return. And with him the old feelings, the old rivalries.

  The memories . . .

  The beat of a country-western tune across the green field grass signaled young Nick’s appearance long before his truck came into view. Cole looked up from where he was reburying the water hose. So Bishop had come through with his promise to his older son.

  A brand-new midnight black Ford 150 with a 4.9 liter engine, a V-6, with five on the floor, plus overdrive and rack-and-pinion steering came into view. Nick was behind the wheel, one hand out the window waving wildly as he drove off the road, over the cattle gate, and into the field.

  Cole’s mother would shoot him. Because Cole could never say no to Nick, and he had a hunch that Nick had plans
to take his new wheels off-road to work out the kinks.

  A smile followed that thought. Hopefully Nick’s shenanigans would include a stopover at the Big K to pick up their friend Maggy.

  Cole finished covering the hose, then pushed his hat back on his head and watched Nick bump over the field toward him. As usual, Nick drove way too fast for the vehicle’s good, but then again he never had to pay for anything. Ever.

  All hail the prince of the Silver Buckle.

  But Nick’s laughter and charisma were too infectious for Cole to be jealous. Nick swept everyone up with his smile and went down with his friends when trouble sucked them in. Of course, Nick had Bishop to pull him out.

  “Hey, amigo, wanna ride?” Nick leaned across the bench and yelled out the passenger window.

  Cole hiked the shovel over his shoulder. “Can’t. Gotta fix the water line. Dutch said he wants to move the herd over to this pasture tomorrow, and there’s a leak.”

  “C’mon, Cole—they can drink from Rattlesnake Creek. I only have three more days before I leave for school. You don’t want your best buddy to leave with his new truck without trying it on for size, do you?”

  “You’re going to let me drive?”

  Nick cocked a grin. “We’ll pick up Maggy, go out to Cutter’s Rock.”

  Oh, sure, and he’d be there watching the moon and freezing his backside while Nick and Maggy kept warm. “No, thanks, Nick. You go.”

  A shadow crossed Nick’s face. “I need a hazer. Please?”

  A hazer? “You’re not thinking of going after Breckenridge’s bulls again, are you? He’ll hang you from the nearest cottonwood, and I’ll bet your dad would help!”

  Nick snorted. “No, of course not. C’mon; I promise we’ll have fun, and your mom won’t care.”

  Cole knew his mother way better than that. But when Nick gunned all 150 horses and cranked the radio, Cole felt a smile creep up his face.

  After all, they had only three days left, right? Then Nick would be off to Montana State University, and Cole would stay here, working as a hand on Nick’s father’s land and trying to put together his own herd of Angus.

  His life would dead-end, while Nick’s soared into the future.

  But for now, this blink of time, they weren’t the rich man’s son and the town joke. No, they were the dynamic duo. Nick and Cole, blood brothers, partners in crime.

  They drove to the Big K and rounded up Maggy. She was in the corral working a new crop of stock horses. She had a way with horses, knew which ones made the best roping and cow horses and which ones would never ride right. She shouted orders at a gangly, dark-haired cowboy.

  “Rafe’s working with Maggy now?” Cole asked as they parked.

  “Just trying to get some horse sense. I think he’s figured out that the key to staying on a horse’s back is getting inside the horse’s head.”

  Thirteen-year-old Stefanie sat on the fence, freckle-faced, her long black hair in two braids. She shook her head when Nick honked, and Maggy bounded over.

  “Heya, beautiful, wanna go for a ride with your cowboy?” Nick leaned one arm out the window, pushing his hat up with his thumb.

  Cole rolled his eyes.

  Maggy looked at Nick, then at Cole and grinned. “Where to?”

  “Cutter’s Rock?”

  Maggy gave him a sly look, and Cole’s heart twisted. Did Nick have even an inkling of how lucky he was?

  Maggy ran back to the corral, her long red ponytail flipping behind her. “Rafe, that’s enough for today. Brush down the horse and make sure you put away the tack.” She unbuckled her chinks and hung them over the fence. “See you later, Stef.”

  Stef gave Nick a dark look as Maggy climbed in between Nick and Cole and they peeled away.

  “So Bishop came through,” Maggy said, pulling out her ponytail. She ran her hands through her hair to work out the tangles.

  Cole looked away before his feelings showed on his face. How many times had he wanted to do that? But Maggy had always been Nick’s girl . . . and always would be.

  Cole hung his arm out the passenger window, looking past the fields as the pickup sped down the gravel road.

  “Yeah,” Nick said, curling his arm around Maggy. “Dad promised me that if I got into MSU, he’d make sure I could make it back to my girl every weekend.”

  Maggy giggled. “I think Bozeman’s a little far to travel every weekend, Nick.”

  Nick glanced at her. “I don’t want you sitting home alone on Friday nights. People might think you’re available.”

  Maggy slid her hand through Cole’s arm, patting his shoulder. “Cole will watch out for me, won’t you?”

  Cole couldn’t pry words past the boulder in his throat, so he nodded. Wasn’t that just Jim Dandy?

  The sun had begun a slow slide down, but it would be nine o’clock before it hit the horizon. They cut off into a pasture south of the Buckle and wove through the coulees and bluffs all the way back to the border of the neighboring land. As they bumped along, cows and their calves lifted their heads, watching them.

  Nick stopped the truck. “Okay, Cole, you get the wheel.” He got out.

  “What are you doing?” Cole asked as he rounded the back of the truck.

  Nick had climbed onto the bed, unearthed a coil of rope, and was beginning to form a loop. “Ropin’ practice.”

  Cole shook his head, but a smile broke across his face. “After you, it’s my turn.”

  They chased the poor calves around the field for two hours, first Nick, then Cole, balancing on the back of the truck bed. Cole knew that if Bishop or any of the hands caught them, Nick could kiss his new truck good-bye, not to mention the hours of work Cole would owe the rancher.

  But the sound of country music booming from the radio, the satisfaction of a well-thrown lasso, and the grin of amazement on Maggy’s pretty face made it worth the risk.

  Being with Maggy always made it worth the risk. Worth even hiking up to Cutter’s Rock and sitting opposite the couple as the campfire glowed and flickered across their faces. Maggy stirred the coals with a stick, contemplative. The fire sizzled, and sparks shot into the blackness. Out here, the stars felt so close a man could touch them. Cole lay back on the grass, wishing this moment could last forever.

  The door slammed, and Cole’s eyes opened. He’d fallen asleep on the orange sofa. What was wrong with him? He pushed himself into a sitting position, feeling mortified.

  The late-afternoon shadows darkened the house, and he barely made out Maggy’s form as she entered the kitchen. She stood in front of the fridge, the light from the door illuminating her face and her auburn hair, now cut an inch above her shoulders. She seemed so young in the dim light, so unscathed by her life. She’d had everything and surrendered it for him.

  Maggy broke the spell by sighing. She reached into the fridge and retrieved a Tupperware container of leftovers. Cole watched her as she dumped the contents into a casserole dish, turned on the electric oven, and shoved it inside.

  She left without a word, without a glance in his direction—if she even knew he was here at all. Had she really ever seen him? Or had he simply been the one whose arms she fell into when her dreams had died?

  Nick’s stand-in.

  Cole took a deep breath, hating the feelings that roiled inside him. His eyes burned, and for a sickening second, he thought he might cry. He battled the urge to surrender. To do as the old dogs did . . . disappear into the fields and die.

  Oh, Lord, please help me. He flicked on the table lamp, and there, in the glow, sat his Bible. How long had it been since he’d read the Bible, found the sustenance he’d needed from God’s Word? He opened it to his bookmarked chapter in Philippians and read: “I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished.”

  The words found Cole’s broken places. He had so many dreams, so many hopes. . . .

  Please, O Lord, finish the good work You started in me. Whatever that is, finish i
t for the good of Maggy and CJ. I don’t know why this is happening to me, but I beg You for enough time to do right by them. Please fix this, Lord.

  He closed the Bible, rubbed the leather with his palm. Nick Noble might be back, but he wasn’t going to take the ranch from Cole. And Cole wasn’t going to leave this world until he knew that his wife and son had a future.

  Which meant he had to keep Nick from taking them to court.

  The sound of a door closing turned his attention out the window toward a beat-up blue Ford pickup. He watched as a man, dressed in a pair of work trousers, a flannel shirt, a canvas jacket, and a dirty feed cap approached the front door. Cole eyed the barn, but Maggy didn’t appear.

  Cole struggled to his feet, leaning on the crutches.

  The doorbell chimed.

  “I’m coming!”

  As he opened the door, the man stepped back. He wore the grizzled look of someone who’d spent a few nights in his truck.

  “Can I help you?” Cole asked, reserving a welcoming smile.

  The man met his eyes, and in them, Cole recognized himself, a spirit broken, a man near desperation. “I hope so. I come about the ad. For a hand. You still lookin’ to hire on help?”

  CHAPTER 6

  “SO, WHAT DO YOU THINK of the Silver Buckle?” Stefanie Noble looked every inch a cow woman in her brown-felt Stetson with her black hair tumbling down her back, a brown work jacket, and worn jeans over a pair of boots. She manned the wheel of her pickup with gloved and capable hands, undaunted by the fact that it nearly swallowed her.

  Sitting beside Stefanie in the passenger seat, Piper stored the image in her thoughts for later retrieval—a metaphor about a woman facing the vast, overwhelming task of running a ranch.

  After this morning’s excursion, Piper knew the vastness of their land. As Nick had given her a tour of the ranch, explaining the operation, pointing out cows, fields, dangers, and history, she’d drifted back through the layers of time—to a time when men and women battled the harsh elements to carve out a life. She wondered if this life got lonely for Stefanie. Wondered at the resolute expression on her face and how often she smiled.