Reclaiming Nick

by Susan May Warren

  “Oh, Piper.”

  There it was, the pity. She clenched her jaw, despising the tears that welled in her eyes. She hadn’t cried over Russell McPhee for nearly ten years. She wouldn’t start—

  “I’d give anything to have been there to protect you,” Nick said softly, almost desperately.

  “Don’t say that, Nick.” Her voice sounded distant, and she felt herself starting to crumble. She’d erected a nice, sturdy wall around herself for the better part of a lifetime, and suddenly, in a little over a week, she’d let some man inside to chip it away. Not only that, but he was a man she’d so recently believed was a bully like her father. She wanted to scream or even run.

  Run away.

  She turned, pushing past him, but he stopped her, grabbing her arm. “Don’t . . . Piper. Don’t leave.”

  “Why? I don’t—”

  “I ran away. From my anger and from everyone who loved me. And . . . I regret it. I should have stayed, should have never let my grief keep out the people who cared about me.”

  She saw the pain on his face and heard herself speaking words that she had rarely spoken even to herself. “My brother . . . tried to protect me, and he nearly got killed.”

  Nick’s face darkened.

  “When my mother and I escaped, we left him behind.” Tears blurred her eyes, and she swiped at them. “I’ve never been able to . . . to forget him.”

  “What happened to him?”

  She just about told him. Felt the words in her throat, felt almost as if . . . as if he might forgive her.

  Or . . . be furious. She took a breath. “Nothing good.”

  She saw sadness on his face, the kind that only made her want to weep more. And that would turn her into a sodden mess. Swell.

  He slid his hand down her arm and took her hand. “Piper, my sister said that God brought me back here. I’m thinking she’s right. I’ve been walking around with a ball of fury inside me—first at my dad, then at Cole. I’m wondering . . . well, mostly I’m just tired of feeding that hate.”

  Piper knew the feeling. Waking up each morning, dodging the cloud of despair that crowded her.

  Nick released her hand and touched her face. “Maybe God did bring me here . . . and I think He brought you here too.”

  Piper went still. Nick, you couldn’t be more wrong. But her voice had deserted her.

  “‘He redeems me from death and crowns me with love and tender mercies.’”

  “What?”

  “My dad wrote it in his journal. I read it last night. Made me think of Joseph in the pit after his brothers had attacked and stripped him. In the end, God made him a ruler over a nation to save his people. It’s a lot easier to see God at work in hindsight than when we’re in the pit, with barely a hint of light.”

  Piper stepped away from him, rubbing her hands over her arms. “Maybe God isn’t even there in those dark moments. Maybe He doesn’t care.”

  “No, Piper, I think God does care. In fact, I think He’s at work even when we’re in over our heads, even when there seems to be no hope.”

  Piper said nothing.

  He blew out another long breath, sounding of frustration. “I have this overpowering desire to reach back in time and get my hands on the man who left you with such deep wounds.”

  His words staggered her. He appeared so wounded, so angry, that for a moment Piper felt as if she might be looking at herself. But when he reached out to take her in his arms, her reflexes moved her away.

  Nick’s voice turned ragged. “George, please come here. . . . I don’t know what else to do.”

  She studied him a long time; then she felt herself crumple. She hated this place inside her that couldn’t push through her glass walls into his arms. Couldn’t trust, couldn’t love. She covered her mouth with her hands, shook her head.

  He took a half step toward her.

  Please, Nick. Only she wasn’t sure what she was pleading for.

  However, a moment later when he drew her close, she knew the answer. She needed Nick to shatter those walls and let himself into her life. To love her. To protect her. Maybe even to help her find . . . peace.

  Because obviously she couldn’t do it herself. Even if suddenly it was the one thing she wanted even more than justice.

  “My husband’s dying, and I think you know that.” Maggy sat in the leather chair of Saul Lovell’s office, her hands folded on her lap. “Our doctor told me the basics . . . and Cole confirmed it. I know what’s going on.”

  Saul leaned back in his chair, his gaunt face solemn as he regarded her. He probably saw her as everyone else did—the girl who had loved and lost. She often felt branded that way—Nick Noble’s former love. But what they didn’t know was that she’d been the winner. She’d loved . . . and loved again. And having loved Nick only made her realize the precious gift of Cole’s love. She learned what real love felt like, what it looked like, the day she married Cole St. John. He was her real hero, and even now he sought to protect her.

  “Tell me the disposition of Bishop’s bequest to us. I know it has to go through probate before we get the land. Can you tell me when that will be?” Maggy despised the tremor in her voice. But she heard the clock ticking every night Cole lay beside her, in his shallow breathing, his groans in the morning as fatigue assaulted him, as if he hadn’t had hours of sleep. She hadn’t needed to talk to the doctor to confirm it, but Dr. Lowe’s words had felt like hot tar seeping through her, blanketing her days with blackness.

  Saul sighed. “It could be as soon as a month, especially if Nick makes no move to contest the will. If he does, it might take a year or more—”

  “A year!” Maggy schooled her voice. “We need it settled soon. Now. I . . . I need the money for Cole’s operation.”

  Saul lifted an eyebrow. “Cole told me that there was no cure.”

  “He has to have a liver transplant. We don’t have insurance . . . but if I sell the land, I’ll have the money.”

  “What’s the status on finding a donor?” Saul’s expression contained compassion, tempering the harsh question.

  “We . . . don’t have one yet.” She looked away, not wanting him to see the pain on her face. “But we will.” Please, Lord, please . . . She’d spent hours on her knees or looking to the sky over the past few days, praying, hoping. . . . She had to believe that God would save Cole.

  Or everything inside her would simply shrivel up and die.

  Saul sighed, then rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Do you have a buyer for the land?”

  Maggy shook her head. “I was thinking that . . . well, maybe the Nobles would buy us out.” It was a long shot, but after Nick’s caustic words last week on the ranch, the idea had begun to incubate. He wanted the land to stay in the family.

  “That’s a fine idea, Maggy. But the land isn’t yours to sell.”

  “It’s Cole’s once the bequest goes through.”

  “But it’s Cole’s land, not yours. You’re only the secondary beneficiary. If Cole dies, then it passes to you.”

  Maggy stared at him, confused. “So? Once we have the land, I’ll sell it off and use the money to help Cole.”

  “Cole made me power of attorney over the land. He told me that he didn’t want you to sell it, even if he became incapacitated.”

  Maggy felt her breath whoosh away, as if someone had wrapped a noose around her neck and left her to dangle, kicking air. For a moment, she simply tried to comprehend Saul’s words. “What?”

  Saul picked up a pen and rolled it between his fingers. “You can’t sell the land until . . . unless . . . well, after it passes to your name. Yes, Bishop left it to you as a secondary beneficiary, but ultimately, if the will passes through probate before . . . while Cole is still with us, the land is his. And you can’t do anything with it.”

  “But I was there when we made our wills. And he made me power of attorney. I remember.”

  “Yes, over your jointly held property. Your stock, your home, and your current land—yo
u have joint ownership. When—if—he becomes incapacitated, you can do what you want with that. But because the Noble land is in Cole’s name alone and it is an inherited gift, it falls under a different category. He had to create a codicil to the will without your presence to give it to you.”

  “I don’t understand.” Mostly she didn’t want to understand. She wanted the nightmare fixed. She wanted Cole back, healthy. Riding beside her on their land. Holding her at night.

  “If a direct beneficiary of a nonjointly held property is in attendance during the signing of a will, then, if there is a dispute, there are grounds for the will to be set aside.”

  “I still don’t understand what you’re saying. I was there when Cole signed his first will—”

  “Again, of your jointly held property. But when he made his codicil for the new property, you couldn’t be present at the signing. If you were, anyone contesting the will could say that you pressured him into signing. And the will could be set aside.”

  Maggy churned his words through her mind. “So, you’re saying that if Cole had been in the room when Bishop signed his will, then Nick could claim that Cole pressured Bishop into signing and challenge the bequest?”

  Saul nodded. “Good thing Cole wasn’t around.”

  Good thing.

  “That’s why we asked Stefanie to leave. Remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.” A cold tremor started inside Maggy. Remembering the day Saul had shown up at the Silver Buckle with John Kincaid to finalize Bishop’s will. Remembering how she’d fixed them tea and stood outside the room, listening to their secrets.

  “If anyone who had benefited from Bishop’s will had been present during the signing, then Nick Noble would have a reason to contest it and grounds to demand that it be set aside.”

  “And Cole wouldn’t get his land.”

  Saul shrugged. “Probably not.”

  Maggy stared at her whitened hands in her lap. “Cole knew he was dying when he gave you power of attorney, didn’t he?”

  Saul put down the pen but didn’t look at her. “I believe so.”

  She closed her eyes, her emotions clogging her throat. Why would he do that? Why would he sacrifice his life so she could have the land?

  Tears filmed her eyes. Because Cole was that kind of husband. He cared more for her than he ever had himself. Cared more for CJ. “Did he tell you what he wanted me to do with it . . . I mean, if he . . . ?” Maggy finished her sentence by shaking her head, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “I think he wants you to sell out.”

  She wiped an errant tear from her cheek. “I won’t sell. I’ll stay and work the ranch that we—”

  “Maggy—” Saul’s voice was gentle—“you can’t run a ranch alone. And CJ’s too young. . . .” He sighed. “I might be willing to buy it.”

  Maggy looked up, and the expression on her face must have startled Saul, for he frowned. “I’m not selling, Saul. And I’m not giving up on Cole.”

  But for the first time Maggy realized how close Cole’s fears could be to coming true . . . and how she might lose the most of all.

  CHAPTER 16

  PIPER HAD SEEN RODEOS up close and smelly while researching the Professional Bull Riders circuit. But sitting here in the stands next to Nick, sipping a soda from a soggy paper cup while he explained the points systems and the rules, gave her an entirely new appreciation for the sport as well as for the cowboys and cowgirls who pitted themselves against the animals.

  Or maybe her newfound interest could be linked to the fact that Nick sat close to her, his presence powerful and way too intoxicating. He wore a jean jacket over a denim shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, and a black Stetson that only accentuated his dark eyes. The gleam of appreciation she’d seen in those eyes at her T-shirt, the petticoat skirt in calico colors that she’d found at a Western store, boots, and short red jean jacket had turned this outing into a bona fide date.

  A date. With Nick Noble. Carter would be beside himself, although he’d take some solace in the fact that even now she carried her tape recorder in her jacket. She didn’t plan on using it, but from habit she had slid it into her pocket with her cell phone.

  Fans packed the Phillips rodeo stands. Wrangler, Carhartt, and Ford banners stretched along the corral fences. The smells of popcorn and hot dogs added ambience to the air, along with the scents of dirt and animal sweat. Horse and cattle trailers from the four corners of the county and beyond crowded the fields outside the stands. Piper had watched with her investigator’s eyes the worried mothers and fathers helping dress and calm the contestants.

  This Memorial Day weekend had begun with national-anthem tryouts for Phillips residents on the public stage set up in the community park. Past rodeo queens and clowns gathered in a tent afterward for autographs. Nick had settled his hand on the small of Piper’s back, more comforting than proprietary, and led her around the tent, whispering into her ear, identifying children of fellow ranchers as well as the new rodeo queen, who had been selected the day before.

  In a way, Piper felt like the queen.

  A parade along Main Street reminded her of bygone days in hometown America, complete with the town’s fire truck, a color guard from the VFW, the high school marching band, and a cavalry of contestants on prettied-up horses.

  Now this was the Old West charm she’d hoped to discover. She’d dived after candy, just like the kids, and laughed when Nick scooped her up a bubble gum. After the parade, they’d found Stefanie setting up for dinner in the back of her pickup. Old Pete had a grill going, and Piper finagled a husk-roasted ear of corn—and avoided the hot dog. The sun was beginning to sink by the time they found their seats in the stands. The announcer called everyone to their feet for the national anthem—sung by the winner of the contest. Piper felt a surge of unfamiliar patriotism as a little buckaroo from the Double B squealed out “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

  The rodeo events started with barrel racing. Piper found herself leaning into the turns, cheering. She caught Nick grinning at her more times than she wanted to count.

  Of course, she managed a few sly glances his way also.

  Oh, boy, she was going to leave Montana with her heart in pieces. Because ever since Nick had taken her into his arms at the Cathedral, silently asking for nothing but to try and calm her nightmares, she had spent too many hours thinking what it would be like to stay here, help him run the ranch, learn to ride a horse properly.

  After all, she could cook.

  She couldn’t believe that this man she’d nearly hated a month ago had splintered the walls she’d put between herself and men. At least men who might have the power to hurt her. And Nick had serious potential to leave deep wounds.

  Not only that, but she felt as if he’d peeled back the layers of her soul and looked inside with his words about being trapped in a pit. It felt like a fair description of her life. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t climb out. Couldn’t free herself from the darkness that pinned her in on every side.

  Except, out here in this beautiful country, for the first time she felt as if the light at the top of her prison had brightened, begun to warm her. Perhaps it was the open spaces, the beauty of the land. They seemed to seep inside her and allowed her to breathe deeply.

  Even her nightmares seemed less . . . potent. She woke each morning with a vague recollection . . . only to pour herself into making porridge or biscuits or even a batch of chocolate-chip cookies. And she was getting pretty good at not burning them.

  Carter was right. She’d completely forgotten who she was. And had not a clue how to disentangle herself from this charade.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  Ever.

  Because being with Nick felt as if she’d stepped out of the realities of being Piper Sullivan and instead become someone else. Cookie. Something sweet. A treat.

  No—George. Curious George, the endearing monkey who got in trouble, well loved by the man in the yellow hat.

  Nick had a h
at . . . even if it wasn’t yellow.

  Oh, brother.

  The crowd cheered when the champion barrel racer loped around the ring, waving.

  “I went to school with her mother,” Nick said, lifting a hand to someone in the stands. “I’m shocked she has a daughter old enough for the junior events.”

  “Why? CJ’s old enough—”

  Nick frowned.

  She watched as something entered his eyes. Regret? Envy? It struck her then that CJ could have been his son. His son with Maggy, if he’d stuck around. A ball formed in her throat, and she stared into the arena, her mood deflating.

  Nick leaned over to her. “I’m going to find CJ and give him a few last-minute pointers.”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll be right back. And I’ll bring cotton candy with me.” He winked, and she realized he’d noticed her recent proclivity toward sweets. Well, what was a vegetarian to do when surrounded by beef?

  He stepped over people and excused himself out of the row while the announcer named the next event.

  Piper felt a tap on her shoulder and turned. Lolly sat above her, looking very cowgirl in a pair of jeans, a turquoise hat, and a matching leather jacket. “I thought that was you. Remember me?” She stuck out her hand. “I was expecting a food order from you.”

  Piper took her grip, managed a smile. Oh yeah, a food order. She’d given Stefanie a basic list, but hadn’t thought about the groups she was supposed to be preparing for. All her time had been spent trying to learn how to cook. “Hi, Lolly. I know; I’m still working on menus.”

  Lolly held her cup with both hands and took a sip of her drink, one eye on the rodeo ring. “You could ask Nick to help you. He used to work for me as a cook.”

  “He said he lasted one day.”

  Lolly winked at her. “He could flip a mean burger. I hated to see him go. But even I knew that he and Bishop were in the middle of an argument. The man came to the café and nearly dragged the kid home by his ear.”

  “Why did you hire him?” Piper slid her hand into her pocket and out of habit flipped on her tape recorder.