Left to his own devices, he filled his world with . . . things that only accentuated what he didn’t have.
A real friend.
A friend who knew his secrets and cared for him anyway. A friend who knew what he really needed, what his deepest prayers might be.
A friend with whom he could talk about how it felt to hope that maybe God was answering his prayers, just as she’d suggested.
“Strength is in who you are.”
He hoped so. Because, like the pastor had said today, quoting from 2 Corinthians 12, “‘“My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” . . . For when I am weak, then I am strong.’” Contrary to Elise’s insinuations, Lincoln wasn’t going to church to avoid her—he desperately wanted to believe that God could make him strong, even through this disease. That it didn’t have to overtake him. That maybe God could answer his prayer.
And he needed that hope from Stefanie because the last two weeks his body felt as if he were walking through sludge, every step a struggle. Even Dex noticed his afternoon naps and the way he took his time moving up and down the stairs. Enough that when Dex handed him a new script, he told Lincoln, point-blank, that this time, he’d be using a stuntman. Lincoln knew he’d probably have to come clean to Dex soon.
Lincoln had been about halfway through the script—an action-adventure about a mountain climber—when he realized that Dex was right. This one would be way above his abilities.
“They’re all caught in a time warp,” Elise said, cutting through his thoughts. She lowered her glasses onto her nose.
“Who?”
“This town. These people. By the way, I saw your neighbor. The one with the long black hair. The horse girl.”
The horse girl? He tried to hide a bittersweet smile. Yeah, his horse girl.
“Did you see what she was wearing? Hello, Calamity Jane.” She giggled and crossed her long, slim legs.
“Be nice, Elise. Stefanie is a friend of mine.”
“A friend?” Elise touched his arm, still smiling. “Sure she is. Who is she, anyway? You said she wasn’t the help, but I can’t figure out what you see in her, so . . .”
“She’s not the help.” He kept his voice low, real low, because he didn’t want her to hear how he suddenly wanted to throw her out of his home, his state, his life. “She’s . . .” What? The woman he loved? He wasn’t exactly sure about that, but he knew she was . . . his best friend. The words curled through his chest, followed by an explosion of truth that took his voice.
Stefanie had never treated him, not even once, with pity. With anything less than the expectation that he could be her hero.
“Don’t tell me. . . .” Elise’s smile vanished. Then, as if to give voice to the expression he knew he wore on his face, she said, “You can’t be saying you . . . like her? Lincoln, be serious. She’s a country girl. A hick.”
Elise was staring at him as if he’d just run over a pack of kitties. And then he saw it, written in Elise’s eyes. The reason Stefanie had so easily, so quickly, so finally, walked out of his life.
Elise didn’t think Stefanie was good enough for him—no surprise there—but Stefanie had agreed with that judgment.
The wind went out of him. He thought back to the picnic under the beautiful sky, listening to Stefanie, really listening, like he should have when she told him about Doug Carlisle. “He had made plans. . . . Except not for us. Or rather, not with me.”
He winced and rubbed his forehead.
“Are you okay?” Elise gave him a disgusted look.
He’d treated Stefanie—at least in her mind—like Doug had treated her. He hadn’t only been a jerk to Gina and women like her. He’d been a jerk to Stefanie. She’d trusted in him, in their friendship. And even if he hadn’t meant it that way, she felt as if he’d thrown her away.
Just like Doug had thrown her away.
No wonder she wouldn’t take his calls.
“What was I thinking?”
“What?”
He turned to Elise, watched her pale as he said, “Stefanie is much, much more than a friend, and you need to know that.”
Elise’s jaw hardened.
Lincoln left her there, slamming the door to the house behind him as he stalked to his office. But she was right. And he had to figure out exactly how to tell Stefanie that he was sorry.
CHAPTER 21
APPARENTLY, SINCE STEFANIE WASN’T answering her telephone, Lincoln had decided to use the postal service.
And the florist.
Stefanie stood in the kitchen staring at the dozen lilac roses and the box of chocolates. Everything inside her sank. What was Superhero trying to do to her?
Stefanie had moved back into the house after Macey and Haley left, but last night they’d had the dreaded talk—the one about Nick and Piper’s need for a bigger place. With Stefanie’s permission, Nick had chosen to dismantle her room, thanks to the pink walls. Even she agreed it would make a perfect nursery.
Stefanie had lain in her bed last night, looking at the pink wallpaper, thinking about Haley and Macey sleeping in the group home in Sheridan. She’d asked to be considered as a foster parent, but with Nick and Piper’s coming addition, the Silver Buckle was lacking adequate bedrooms. And she was sort of on the naughty list with Social Services.
To add salt to her wounds, the social worker had refused to let the children talk to her. But Nick had been able to find out that the girls were being taken back to South Dakota.
Where she’d probably never see them again.
Gideon was beside himself with frustration, and Stefanie wouldn’t put it past him to bust them out again. She nearly offered him her truck.
Casting another glance at the untouched boxes on the table, Stefanie grabbed her jacket and marched out to the barn.
She bet that Elise Fontaine had never touched a manure shovel, but it fit so well into Stefanie’s hand, as if she’d been born with it. And that oh-so-lovely smell was probably embedded in her skin—eau de manure.
She led the horses into the corral and fed and watered them. Then, grabbing the rake, she began to muck out the stalls. She was really good at that.
Not so good at trusting people, though. Really good at letting the bold and the beautiful twist her brains into a knot. Not so good at guarding her heart.
She took off her gloves and wiped her tears, hating that just when she thought he was gone from her system, Lincoln sent her flowers.
She wondered if Elise knew about his condition. And if she would stay with him . . .
She stopped raking and closed her eyes. That wasn’t fair. Elise might be beautiful and poised and perfect, but maybe she wasn’t that shallow.
Stefanie hoped.
She left the barn, watching the tumbleweeds rolling across the windswept grasses, now pale green as they flowed over the hills of Silver Buckle land. Here and again, wild iris and Wyoming kittentail edged the gullies that had been furrowed out of the earth by God’s creative force. She usually forgot to see it. Forgot to notice as spring swept in, as summer made its lazy creep into their lives. Forgot to smell the air as it changed from crisp to scented, to watch as the calves began to leave their mothers and play in the fields. She had simply melted into the days, letting the work overtake her.
“You belong here, Stef.” Her father’s words after she’d returned home from college sounded a faint echo in her memory. He’d stood beside her at the corral and simply said, “You belong here. You’re in this land.”
Maybe, instead of seeing that as second best, she should see it as a blessing. This was what God had given her. This life. This family. This job.
And for a time, these kids.
She saw Macey in her memory, that last day as she’d followed her to the barn and stood on the bottom rung of the corral, watching the horses. She had parted her hair into two ponytails and washed her face clean of makeup. Stefanie had spotted the real color of her hair, a lighter brown, beginning in a swath across the top of her head. St
efanie liked it so much better than the jet-black dye. She wore a pair of Stefanie’s old pants and a pale pink shirt, and it reminded her of the day Macey had said pink wasn’t for her.
Stefanie smiled. Maybe Macey had just never let herself consider that she might be a pink girl.
Just like Stefanie never let herself consider that she might be right for Lincoln. But maybe, for the time he needed her, she had been.
Still, it didn’t make his rejection any easier.
I miss you, Lewis.
A horse nickered, one of her new ones, and she reached into an alfalfa bag along the corral fence for a treat. “Listen, Dances with Horses, not everyone can talk to the animals.” Oh, how she missed his corny nicknames for her. Missed the way they made her feel like she mattered.
Stefanie heard the door slam and looked up to see Nick coming down the steps. She wiped her tears and headed back to the barn.
“The postman was looking for you earlier.”
“I saw the packages.” Stefanie said, not stopping.
“Stef, slow up.”
She sighed, halted at the door of the barn, and dredged up a smile. Nick had always been intimidating, big and a little frightening, although his rebel behavior had taught her that even big brothers could mess up, and bad. But Nick had put his life back together and in the past two years had become every bit as huge as he’d been when she was eight and he was thirteen and the Buckle’s roping champ.
“What?” she said, already on guard.
Nick said nothing more, just reached out and pulled her tight against him.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t let go. “What I should have done a long time ago. I’m telling you that if you want me to beat him up, I’ll do it.”
Stefanie managed a smile and disentangled herself. “No, that’s okay. I’m over—”
“Gimme a break. You were crazy about him, and the guy broke your heart.” Nick put his gloves on. “I’m serious about beating him up.” This time he didn’t smile.
“Thanks, Nick. But I don’t think that’s necessary.”
He nodded. “Well then, I’ve got something to say.” He glanced toward the house. “Piper told me about the guy who hurt you years ago.”
“Oh.”
“And I think I figured out why you came back to the ranch and never left.”
“Someone had to run it—”
“Stop. Dad had Dutch, and he could have hired on help. But because you were here, he depended on you, and you let time tell you that’s where you belonged.”
“It is where I belong.”
“Of course it is. But not because you don’t fit into the lives of men like Lincoln Cash. Don’t let what other people expect of you tell you who you are or where you belong. And most of all, don’t let your own defeats brand you. I did that. All I heard was my guilt and shame, and they kept me from ever making things right between Dad and me.” Nick wore his grief on his face, and for a moment, Stefanie couldn’t speak.
He closed his eyes and swiped off his hat, blowing out a breath. “You’re an amazing person. I look at you and it makes me proud to be your brother.”
Stefanie looked away, unable to keep her emotions from her eyes.
“But I think fear, or maybe hurt, has kept you from seeing that. From seeing yourself the way you are. I said not to let anyone else tell you who you are and where you belong—and that includes you. I know this guy from your past hurt you and I know Lincoln hurt you, but sometimes I wonder if the Noble genetic predisposition to be our own worst enemies hasn’t affected you too.” He reached out and touched her arm. “You’re not going to find out who you are until you listen to the only One who knows.”
“And who might that be?” she asked, a smile on her lips.
He wasn’t smiling. “God. He knows you better than you even know yourself. And I have it from a good source that He’s crazy about you.”
Stefanie clenched her jaw, turned away.
But Nick caught her and pulled her against him again. “Sis, there’s only one name you should be calling yourself. And that’s God’s Beloved.”
She ached to believe him, to hear his words.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me,” Nick said softly. “I should have been the big brother you needed.”
Oh, Nick. She let herself relax in his embrace, leaning her head on his chest. “You’re the bestest biggest brother a girl could have,” she said in a little-girl voice.
He laughed. “And in case you’re getting the wrong impression, I really do need you around here.”
Stefanie smiled at him as he headed for the barn to fetch his horse. Beloved. How she longed to let that word soak through her.
Lord, I want to be Your Beloved.
“Watch out that no poisonous root of bitterness grows up . . .”
Maybe the worst root of bitterness she’d nurtured had been her unforgiveness of herself. She’d forgiven Doug. And she could even forgive Lincoln. But she hadn’t forgiven herself for loving so easily, for giving herself away without a thought to the future, for derailing her dreams in a moment of weakness. Over the years, she’d let her self-condemnation fester, let it weave through her dreams, choking them, strangling her ability to see all God had given her, all the ways He called her His Beloved.
No wonder she was never content. Because she never believed that God would give her the best after what she’d done.
She paused just inside the barn door, closing her eyes. Lord, I want to forgive myself. Help me forgive myself. Help me see myself the way You see me and to hear Your voice.
The sound of a truck driving into the yard broke into her thoughts. Stefanie came out of the barn as Piper emerged on the porch. They stared at the brown cargo truck.
A man in brown shorts climbed out of the open door carrying a large white box. “UPS delivery,” he said to the two women.
Neither moved.
The deliveryman stood there, wearing his dark sunglasses, under the full heat of the morning, glancing between them. He looked at the label. “For Stefanie Noble.”
“That’s her,” Piper said, pointing. She cocked her head and smiled.
“I’ve never seen a UPS man before,” Stefanie said with a soft smile.
He handed her the box. “Had to drive up from Sheridan. Pretty country,” he said as he got into the truck.
“Another delivery?” Piper said, following Stefanie into the house.
The cool air from the kitchen whisked over Stefanie’s sweaty face. Or maybe the heat in her face came from seeing so many gifts piled on the table.
“Open them,” Piper said, taking a seat. “And please start with the chocolate.”
But Stefanie stared at the loot, unable to move. “Why is he doing this?”
“Apparently you’re the only one who thinks you’re ‘just a neighbor.’ Open the presents.”
Stefanie sat down on the chair. Why? “Maybe only the card,” she said.
Lincoln had his own stationery, of course. Very masculine, yet refined, with a big LC written in black ink on a white-on-white card affixed to the big white box.
“What does he say?”
Stefanie opened the card. She wasn’t prepared. Maybe because she’d thought he hadn’t been listening that day when she’d told him her dreams about having her own ranch, or maybe because she’d hoped he’d forgotten how pitiful she’d been, laying her heart out for him. Nevertheless, there it was, written in black and white.
Dear Horse Whisperer,
Please come and watch a movie with me.
Lincoln
A formal invitation inside gave the date and time of tonight’s Unshackled premiere.
Stefanie looked at the box. There was no name on the box to indicate a department store. She put the card down and made a fist to stop her hand from shaking.
Just a neighbor.
She closed her eyes. No, she was his friend. And he was her friend. Even if that was all it was, maybe she could st
ill open the box and enjoy that.
Inside was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen.
“Oh, my goodness—is that for you?”
“I . . . guess so.” But, oh, how she hoped so, in a wild, fantasy-come-true kind of way.
The dress, made of burnished gold satin, had a beaded corset bodice, appliquéd with tiny pink and red flowers along the neckline and up the spaghetti straps. Stefanie pulled it out and held it up to herself. The skirt fell just above her ankles, and a flimsy organza overlay fluttered the rest of the way to the floor.
It was the most exquisite thing she’d ever seen. Like wearing a piece of caramel.
Stefanie put it back into the box. Stepped away from it. Stared at it. Touched it.
“For heaven’s sake, Stef, it’s not a rattlesnake. Try it on.”
“No!”
Piper put down the box of chocolate and wiped her hands. Then she riffled through the dress box and produced a pair of gold strappy sandals. “At least try these on.”
“I can’t possibly . . .” But Stefanie couldn’t stop the wash of feelings—delight and surprise and a bit of indignation, but that was quickly doused by more delight.
“Yes, you most certainly can.” Piper stood up and shoved the sandals into Stefanie’s hands. “C’mon. We have a lot of work to do in the next couple of hours.”
But Stefanie backed farther away from the box, then sank into a kitchen chair. “Who is he trying to fool? I’m going to look stupid. There will be a hundred actors and special guests there, ones who get paid to look good. What is Lincoln thinking?”
Piper picked up the invitation. “I think he’s asking you out.”
“I can’t go out with . . . Lincoln Cash.”
“Why not? Because the entire world will see? Because you might end up on the cover of a tabloid?”
Stefanie winced at the headlines running through her mind.
“And what’s so horrible about being seen with Lincoln?”
“Because when he’s tired of—” She covered her mouth with her hand. “He was listening. All that time, he was listening.”
“I think it’s more than that. I think he’s trying to tell you that he wants you in his life. Look at this dress. Lincoln is a man of taste, and he picked this out for you.” Piper picked up the corset. “It’s bold and strong yet delicate, and the color . . . he picked that out too.”
Finding Stefanie Page 26
