by Deb Kastner
Dixie had presented him with the small New Testament and Psalms the first day he worked for her. He knew he hadn’t been singled out, that it hadn’t been a gift just for him, but then again, if it were, would he have accepted it?
Probably not. And probably Dixie would have known that.
As it was, she gave the same small, maroon leather Bible to each and every one of her staff. He kept his copy on him wherever he went, tucked away in his pocket, next to his heart.
He coughed as his throat tightened around his breath. He was going lame in the head. His brothers would tease him to no end about this suddenly sentimental, romantic tendency of his.
He’d never actually cracked the book and read it, though he knew Dixie hoped he would. She called the Bible God’s Word, and spoke of it as if it was truly a letter from God to man.
He didn’t want to admit it, but the Bible intimidated him. Who was he to read a book written by God through His prophets? Erik wasn’t even a believer.
He ought to toss it in the trash and be done with it, yet he couldn’t.
Crazy, was what it was. Insane.
But it felt somehow right to keep the Bible in his pocket, a part of Dixie to carry around with him while he did his work.
Now, in the quiet of the meadow with nothing but the gurgle of the stream as background music, he pulled the small maroon book from his pocket and held it in his palm, reflecting on its light weight compared to the heaviness in his heart.
How did a man read the Bible, anyway?
Just open up to page one and dive in? Or was there some secret formula Christians used to know where to read? He knew the chapters and verses were marked with numbers.
Where was he supposed to start?
Dixie would know, but he wasn’t about to ask her. Just like she’d know how to talk to God. But maybe you had to be one of God’s special friends to have that privilege. Erik certainly hadn’t earned that.
He pulled in a deep breath and blew it out again in a rush. “Okay, Lord. If You’re there, You’re gonna need to help me.”
He rifled through the pages, then turned to Matthew 1:1 and started reading. He wasn’t a fast reader, but he had nowhere to be and no one expecting him, so he didn’t feel rushed.
He read of Jesus’s birth, how as a boy He remained in the temple with His parents frantic to find Him, how He grew in stature and wisdom with both God and man.
He got as far as the devil tempting Jesus before it really began to sink in. Jesus hadn’t eaten in forty days. He must have been weak, famished. Yet when Satan reminded Jesus of His ability to make bread from stones, His answer struck Erik right between the eyes.
Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.
Was that why Dixie insisted on giving each staff member a Bible? Because she knew they weren’t living a full life without God?
Lightning quick, he snapped his own little New Testament shut and tucked it back in his pocket, almost as if it were hot to the touch.
He’d never needed God’s Word before. Why should he need it now?
But he couldn’t stop thinking of the passage, thinking about the gap in his life. Food, water, clothing—who better than Erik knew it wasn’t enough, no matter how he fooled himself? Deep in his heart, he knew even his own herd of horses wouldn’t make him feel complete.
He needed love.
Was that why he was so drawn to Dixie? Because she offered not only the love of a beautiful woman, but the love of God?
He grabbed the largest rock in his reach and threw it with all his might, missing the river and making a cloud of dust on the opposite bank. Anger and pain roiled through the empty places in his heart.
What right did he have to ask for God’s love? It wasn’t only that he hadn’t believed, for deep in his heart he’d always known there was a God. The creation of the horse alone was too exquisite to have been mere chance.
But he’d turned from that God, thrown blame on that God. Hated Him for taking away his mother, and by that, his father.
How could God forgive him?
It was too wide a gap to bridge, even for Dixie’s all-loving God.
And Dixie?
Dixie thought of him as the big lug of a cowboy who more often got in her way as not. How many times did she remind him not to run things for her, or accuse him of trying to overprotect her?
How many times had he seen anger sparkling in those pools of aqua-blue?
As if that weren’t enough, there was Abel to contend with. Her ex-fiancé, the near-perfect missionary man strong enough to give up Dixie’s love to do God’s will.
Abel, a man nearly elevated to sainthood, at least in Dixie’s eyes. Even though he’d left her in the lurch.
Abel, who never thought of himself, but only the God he served and the people under his care.
Abel, who had won Dixie’s heart with his kind ways and fancy words.
Erik didn’t want to think about Abel, but he couldn’t help but compare. He realized the emotion he’d been feeling when she spoke of another man, a man who’d broken her heart and left no room for another.
Jealousy.
Pure, unadulterated jealousy.
It didn’t make a bit of difference in the long run, except to make him more miserable than he already was.
Erik knew he wasn’t ever going to be the right man for Dixie Sullivan, not if he worked at it until he was a thousand years old.
She needed a man with a strong faith in God. A man who didn’t bring with him the baggage of a miserable past. A man who could love Dixie the way she deserved to be loved.
A man like Abel Kincaid.
Besides, Erik thought, she didn’t even like him.
Tolerated him, perhaps. Maybe even considered him a friend, given the amount of time they spent with each other.
His throat continued to strangle him. He didn’t want friendship. Not anymore.
But when he tried to move forward, make their relationship more, she’d backed off. What was a cowboy to do?
He already knew the consequences of this self-examination, this discovery—maybe more an admission than a discovery—of his feelings for Dixie.
If he’d been tongue-tied around her before, he knew it was going to be at least doubly as bad now. Every time she looked at him with anger or hurt in her eyes, the pain was going to pierce his chest twice as hard.
The smell of peaches was going to have him fainting like a little old lady.
He mounted Jazz and galloped through the meadow, hoping the wind would take the edge off the pain searing his heart.
There was nothing he could do about his love for Dixie, except be there when she needed him, and protect her from those who would hurt her, as Ellis had done. He would be her right-hand man even when she insisted she didn’t need one.
It was the least he could do. And the most.
Chapter Thirteen
She could ride! She could really ride!
In the month since Erik had begun teaching her to ride on Victory, she’d learned to saddle and bridle the horse, taking care to tighten the cinch against Victory’s stubborn inclination to bloat when she saddled him.
She’d learned how to groom him, feed him a more substantial fare than sugar cubes and clean the mud from his hooves with a pick. She’d learned to mount and dismount without Erik’s assistance.
And she’d learned to ride.
Okay, so she wasn’t galloping through the fields yet. But Erik often complimented her on her natural seat and instinctive use of her body and knees in guiding the horse.
She could walk, trot and even canter, although she still felt like grasping the saddle horn when Victory got going at such a fast clip. She didn’t dare make that amateur mistake, not after the first time Erik chewed her out for it.
He wouldn’t let her take her free hand from her thigh, telling her if she was going to learn to ride, she’d learn to ride right. She was afraid of the consequences if she didn’t.
He threatened to hold the hand there himself.
Just the thought made her skin tingle.
She needed to learn to feel the horse, move with the horse instead of fighting him. Not think about Erik.
There would be no need for a saddle horn when she learned to be one with the horse, he assured her. She wasn’t sure at this point if she’d get past the bumbling part, not as long as she had a handsome cowboy as a teacher.
She smiled softly, hearing his gentle instruction even now.
Grip with your knees. Lean backward going downhill, forward going uphill. Relax. Relax. Relax.
With the horse, at least, she was starting to relax, starting to feel her dream broaching reality. Erik Wheeler was another matter entirely. The more time she spent with him, the harder it became to concentrate—at least on learning to ride. Yet, ironically, Erik was the means to the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Many lifelong dreams, some only recently coming to light.
Or maybe it wasn’t quite as ironic as it first appeared.
She shook her thoughts from her mind. She had work to do, and here she was, daydreaming again.
She found it infinitely more pleasurable to think about her horse—and about the man who trained him—than to consider the overwhelming number of tasks left to do before the members of her church arrived in two weeks.
The buildings were complete, and the retreat itself looked wonderful. Riding and hiking trails were well established.
She’d been working to build respect with the stable hands. Tally had taken over as the unofficial leader of the hands. She had high hopes the other boys would follow his example and stop harassing her. She’d been working alongside them, deciding actions would speak louder than words to the young men.
Today she’d rounded the hands together to make a final tour of the fencing around her land. It needed to be done, but she didn’t necessarily have to be there. She wanted to be there.
Armed with a hammer and nails, she mounted Victory and took the lead as Tally and the others followed her to the outskirts of her land. The outside fence was made with split pine logs from her land.
It had only been a few weeks, but already, a little wear and tear was visible.
Mostly, it was just a pleasant ride. At least until they came to the gate leading to the Needleson property, which Dixie quickly assessed with her newly learned carpentry knowledge. The gate was twisted sideways off its hinges, looking very much as if it had been run over with a motor vehicle of some kind.
Sighing, Dixie dismounted and hobbled her horse, gesturing for the boys to do likewise. Planting her hands on her hips, she groaned. “Any of you boys know how to fix a mangled gate?”
Silence. She glanced around. The hands were staring back at her with dazed looks in their eyes.
“No carpenters in this bunch?” she asked, punctuating her sentence with a laugh.
Bushman, one of the younger hands, laughed low and deep. “We do horses, not hammers.”
“Yeah,” Hogan, the largest and eldest of the hands, piped in. “And this one looks like it definitely needs a hammer.”
Dixie mock-frowned. “I thought ranch hands mended fences.”
Tally made a face. “The unfun part of ranching.”
Dixie smothered a grin. “You fellows would rather be horsin’ around?”
The young men laughed in surprised unison.
“Plenty of time for that. First, we have a fence to mend.” She rummaged through her saddle pack for a hammer and nails.
Bushman followed her lead, hobbling his horse and walking to her side. “You’re going to help?” he asked, astonishment lining his voice.
“Yes. And why wouldn’t I?”
Hogan snickered, a sound that eternally ruffled Dixie’s feathers. She tensed her shoulders, then relaxed. “Is there a reason that is funny?”
“No, ma’am,” Tally interceded before Hogan could reply. “It’s just that you—well, you’re a city girl with enough money to buy a nice spread of land out of pocket. It seems…” His sentence drifted off for a moment as he struggled to choose the right word. “Weird. For you to get your hands dirty. I mean, why should you?”
She bristled. There was a little bit of resentment behind Tally’s tone, Dixie realized, but then again, it was understandable. She’d put any misapprehensions to rest.
Right here. Right now.
“Oh, I see. City princess with loads of cash who has never seen a day’s work in her life, never mind a lick of trouble, waltzes on this land and orders a passel of poor men around. Is that it?” She reined in her temper, but the backlash of her own resentment filled her voice nonetheless.
“Something like that,” Hogan muttered under his breath.
She wanted to box his ears—or at least plant her fists on her hips while she argued with him, but instead she offered a silent prayer for patience and divine assistance with her words and actions.
This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. The chance to really get to know these boys—make friends. If she lost her temper, she’d lose what God had graciously given her.
She walked toward the gate and tried to move it. It didn’t budge. She put a shoulder to the wood and pushed, grunting with effort, to no avail.
Both her body and voice strained against the firm wood. “What’s this gate made of, anyway? Lead?”
“It’s not that,” Tally answered, pointing at the juncture of the gate and the fence. “It’s wedged into the post.”
“Great,” she muttered under her breath. She wiped a hand across her sweaty brow and continued. “Give me a hand, here.”
The three young men gathered around the gate and, under Dixie’s guidance, attempted to pull it up and out of the solid wood post.
“We need leverage,” Dixie inserted, narrowing her eyes and looking around, her mind tossing about for an answer.
“Over there. Get a couple of those logs.”
Tally lifted his eyebrows, then complied, Bushman taking the second log.
“Put the fat one on the ground. We’ll use the other across it as a lever to raise the gate. Then you brutes can pull it out.”
“Who is going to hold the lever?” Hogan asked, taking his place at the side of the broken gate.
“Me.”
The young men chuckled, though none of them outright laughed.
She smiled cattily, then sat down on the up side of the teeter-totter log. She had to bounce once or twice, but slowly the gate moved up until it was parallel to the ground.
“Good going,” Tally said, and the others nodded.
Dixie beamed with their grudging praise. “Still think I’m a no-good city girl?”
“No, ma’am,” Hogan answered, sounding just a little bit ashamed.
She probably had at least a dozen splinters on her backside, she thought, wincing. But it was worth it if she could get even one of these boys to see past the obvious, into the heart of things.
About her. And ultimately, about God. She couldn’t very well show them God’s love if they didn’t respect her.
“I grew up different from you fellows,” she continued, “But not necessarily better.”
Hogan humphed, and Tally pinned him with a warning glare.
Dixie just smiled. “Where do you think I got the money for this retreat?”
“Your papa,” Bushman answered promptly.
It was Dixie’s turn to snort. “Believe me, the last place my papa wants me to be is working in Christian ministry.”
Even Tally looked surprised.
“I had to work and pray my way here. I traveled for two years from church to church, asking for support. It didn’t come easy, partly because I’m a woman. I had to fight for my vision.”
She looked from face to face, meeting each man’s gaze. “I didn’t give up. Sometimes all I could do was keep my eyes on the Lord. But I didn’t quit.”
“But you’ve known God for a long time,” Bushman protested.
She shook her head. “I didn’t
grow up in the faith. I didn’t even hear about God until I was seventeen. That’s part of the reason I wanted to build this retreat. I want the little ones to hear about Jesus.” She paused and waved a hand. “Pull just a hair to the left. I think we’ve almost got it.”
“I never heard about God ’til here. Um, I mean now,” Hogan admitted, his voice low and scratchy.
Dixie’s throat caught, and tears sprang to her eyes, though she held them at bay by pinching her bottom lip between her teeth.
“It took me three more years to finally understand Jesus could love me. Bad childhood, wretched teen years and all.”
“You did bad things?” Tally asked, sounding genuinely amazed.
Dixie nearly howled with laughter. “I must really look like Miss Goody Two-shoes to you fellows.”
A low laugh came from behind her, sending Dixie’s heart into her throat. She didn’t hear Erik laugh often. She hadn’t even known he was there, or she would have tried harder, she thought crossly.
She leaned back and tipped her head in order to see Erik. At the same time, the stable hands yanked on the gate, which gave suddenly without a sound, other than the muttered exclamations of the young men.
Dixie careened onto the ground with a bone-jarring bump, pounding the breath from her lungs as she landed flat on her back. She pinched her eyes closed, not wanting to see Erik’s expression.
“You okay?”
She cracked one eye open.
Erik rested one forearm on the saddle horn of his mount and leaned over her, his mouth twitching at one corner.
If he laughed, Dixie thought she might scream. That is, if she had any breath left in her lungs, which she sincerely doubted.
“Playing teeter-totter?” Erik asked, grinning fully.
“Very funny,” she groaned, surprised the young men didn’t laugh with Erik.
“It was her idea to hoist this thing with these beams,” Tally said, sounding defensive.
“Yeah,” Hogan agreed. “These hinges are shot. But now that we’ve got the gate down, we’ll have it fixed in a jiffy, boss.”
