Her fists curled as if she meant to strike out. But then she curled her arms around her knees, hugging them tight as she shook her head. “Go away. Please.”
“I can’t. I have to make sure you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” she said with a surprising bit of bravado that could have convinced someone else she was just fine.
“I’m not sure, maybe the look in your eyes when I walked through the door a bit ago. Or maybe the fact that you’re sitting here practically in fetal position.”
“Maybe I was praying.”
“Were you?”
She shook her head, one tear finally slipping free. She swiped at it with a finger.
“I never cry,” she said quietly, as if to herself.
“Ah, I see. Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He moved so that his back was against the wall, putting him next to her rather than facing her. He knew from experience that it was best if she didn’t feel cornered. Not his own, but the experience of a good friend. His business partner.
Sometimes a person just needed space to pull themselves together.
She breathed deeply and continued to wipe at tears, whether she admitted to crying or not. He got up and made himself at home, finding a cup, tea and sugar. He considered telling her about Roger. Roger had battled PTSD silently, as if it were something to hide, to be ashamed of. Max guessed that to those battling the past, it felt like something to hide.
It shouldn’t be hidden. A person with any other disease would seek the comfort and help of family, friends, physicians. He had finally convinced Roger of that.
He made the tea and handed it to her. She studied the cup, studied him. He held his free hand out to her and she shrank back from him. He considered telling her his background. That his grandfather had been an Assyrian Christian minister who’d migrated to America, where they could be free from persecution. Where they could worship without fear of repercussion. Where his wife and daughter would be safe. His daughter, Max’s mother, Doreena.
Max’s father was a mixed bag of European heritage, like most Americans. He could trace his father’s ancestry to the early colonists.
But he didn’t owe this woman explanations. She didn’t owe him any, either.
He was just as American as she was. His grandfather had given them the American dream. He didn’t ever take that for granted.
He continued to hold his hand out to her, not even considering why he cared. She wasn’t his problem.
But he knew that if he did leave, the helicopter would start back up and he had little doubt that the sound would push her over the edge.
She took his hand. Her fingers wrapped around his, firm and strong. He pulled her to her feet and still he held her hand. He found it strangely frail as he clasped it tight, holding on to her as she surveyed her surroundings. She didn’t let go.
“You’re okay,” he assured her.
“Am I?” she said softly, taking the tea from him. “Even with all evidence to the contrary?”
“We all have bad moments.”
She sipped the tea and walked away from him. “Really? Has anyone ever found you cowering in a corner?”
“Once,” he admitted.
She took a seat at the island that ran the length of the kitchen.
“Really?”
He sat next to her, saw her stiffen at his nearness. “Yes. Really. Once, when I was about eight. A tornado hit the outskirts of Hope.”
“You’re from Hope?”
“That’s what you’re taking from my story? I just opened up to you. I exposed my deep-seated fear of storms.”
She laughed, the sound soft. “Right. I’m sorry that you’re afraid of storms. Do you still struggle with thunder and lightning?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Tornadoes are my real fear. You can’t control them.”
“You’re a control freak, so your fear is born out of the need for control and not the storm itself.”
“Yes, I guess that must be it. Or the damage they do.”
He wanted to ask her what caused her fear, but he knew that it must be personal. She hid it from prying eyes. She covered her tears with jokes.
“Thank you for coming back...?” She gave him a meaningful look.
“Max St. James,” he offered.
She gave him a thoughtful look. “St. James. Melody’s brother?”
“Yes.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go now. Will you be okay?”
She lifted her tea but didn’t take a drink. “Of course. Embarrassed but okay. And if you could do a girl a solid and not tell everyone that you found me cowering in a corner...”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
He left her to her tea and her memories. He knew that he would most definitely see her again. The two of them were on a committee together. She just wasn’t aware yet. As he left the wedding chapel, he wasn’t sure how to feel about spending more time with her. The last thing he wanted to do was make more connections in Hope.
His plan had been to buy back his family ranch and make a quick exit to Dallas. But it seemed like God had other plans for him. He hoped God understood that the last thing he needed were complications.
Chapter Two
Sierra found a chair and pulled it where she knew the sounds would be more muffled. In a moment the helicopter would take off.
“Brace yourself,” she whispered. She shuddered at the thought of being dragged into the past by memories that would feel too much like the real thing.
She knew the mechanics of the flashback. The fear would trigger a response in the brain. The images would flash and she would confuse past and present. She would relive the smells, the sounds, the horrors of the accident, of being taken captive, of watching from a distance as her only source of help flew away, unable to locate her.
Coping mechanisms. She needed her coping skills. She held the cup of warm tea, keeping the aromatic blend close to her face.
Cup in hand, she stood, knowing she couldn’t fight this fear cowering in a corner. She marched out the front door of the barn just as the massive helicopter whirred to life, the rotors spinning and the engine winding up to lift the monster vehicle off the ground.
She could see the men inside, the pilot with his headset, the passenger who stared out the glass door, making eye contact with her. From the distance he held her gaze. She remembered the color of his eyes. They were the oddest mixture of moss green, brown and gray. Dark eyes but with a light that reminded her of sunshine filtering through a forest canopy. He had short, curly hair, lean, suntanned features. He knew how to control situations. It came naturally to him. He also knew people. He’d immediately seen the fear in her expression.
She knew people, too. Her job in the army had been human intelligence. The irony had been that she wasn’t particularly good with people. She was a loner by nature. And yet she’d been very good at her job.
The man holding her gaze was not the enemy. As the helicopter circled, he waved. She waved back. She wouldn’t get lost in memories.
As the helicopter cleared the tree line, she began to breathe. She had survived. Making her way to one of the patio sets on the wide stone-tiled front porch, she sat on the wrought-iron chair, and enjoyed the scent and the sounds of country life. The horses grazing in the field, pulling at the drying winter grass. In the distance a tractor moved a big, round bale of hay.
Peace, that’s what she’d found here, in Hope. Peace was what she felt a short time later as she retrieved a cup of tea and returned to the front patio to sit and make notes on future events that would be held at the venue. She had a meeting scheduled for four o’clock. In her current state of mind, she almost hoped they would cancel.
Time slipped away as she worked, sipping on tea that had grown tepid. Sh
e glanced up when she heard a truck coming down the gravel road from the main house. It stopped and Isaac West jumped out, shoving his hat down on his head as he did. She turned and headed for the front doors of the building. He followed close behind.
“Why are you here?” she asked as she headed to her office.
He caught up with her. “What? I don’t look like the kind of guy who just shows up.”
“Not generally.”
“I am the kind of guy wo can be here for a friend.”
“Go. Away.” She took a seat behind her desk and picked up a file. “St. James/Barton Wedding” she’d written across the front. Max’s sister.
Melody St. James was twenty-five, had been dating Andrew Barton for five years and had her wedding planned to the last detail. That made Sierra’s life strangely complicated. When a young woman had been dreaming of her special day for years, it was difficult to help her match reality to her fantasy wedding.
It dawned on her then why Isaac had appeared at just the right moment to bother her. “He sent you, didn’t he?”
“He?”
“Max St. James. That’s how you arrived at just the right time. Of all the interfering...”
Isaac cleared his throat. “Did you get off to a bad start with my old friend?”
She ignored the question.
“I don’t need to be checked on. I’m very capable of taking care of myself.”
Isaac kicked back in the chair opposite her and had the nerve to put his booted feet on the corner of the oak desk that happened to be her pride and joy. It was an antique, passed down through generations. Not generations of her family, but a family.
“Get your feet off my desk,” she growled.
He quickly moved his feet to the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked, showing his serious side.
“I’m fine.”
He studied her. “It wasn’t a bad thing he did, caring enough to call and have someone check on you.”
“He doesn’t know me. It was intrusive. I’m not sure why he felt he had a responsibility to call in a welfare check on me.”
Isaac’s expression went from serious to amused and she was thankful. Amused, she could deal with.
“You’re so prickly sometimes.”
“I’m not.” She opened the wedding file. “I’m fine and I have work to do.”
“Right.”
She looked up, seeing the skeptical expression of a man she considered a friend. “I survived it. There, that’s honesty for you. I can admit that it took me by surprise. It’s been at least a year since I’ve had a flashback. But I’m still standing and that’s a win.”
“That’s always a win.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
“I never said you weren’t,” Isaac said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.
Sierra sat back in her chair. She rubbed her hands down her face and sat silent for a moment, face buried, trying to think of something that would put his mind at ease. “I heard the helicopter, but I held it together. I was nice to a child. I made sure she was safe.”
“If you were nice to a child, that’s a definite win.”
“You know I’m not fond of them. And this one—” She shuddered. “She’d been outside and she had that outdoor kid smell. You know the one.”
“Yeah, I know.” He leaned back, deceptively relaxed. “You have to let people in, you know. Friends. Family. You can’t always shut down and keep people out of your space.”
“I know that. But I don’t trust easily.”
He arched a brow. “Isn’t that the truth. I’m still not sure if you trust me.”
“I do trust you. I just don’t trust you to stay out of my business.” She smiled.
They sat there in silence for a few minutes and she knew that there was more. Isaac could be intrusive. He knew when to push. He also knew when to give a person space. He was still here, watching her, waiting.
In the silence, she had too much time to think. Her mind kept replaying the moment when Max St. James walked up to her, dark-skinned, curly hair, piercing gaze. She’d been taken aback by his presence, by him. Unfortunately she hadn’t seen the last of him. The file sitting on her desk meant that he would be in her life for the next couple of months as she planned Melody St. James’s wedding.
“Will you be at the holiday dinner this Sunday after church?” Isaac finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Holiday dinner?” She had no idea what he was talking about.
“The Hope Community Church holiday dinner. We have it on the last Sunday in November every year. It’s open to the community, so we serve food all day, because we never have enough room for one big sit-down dinner.”
“And what do you want me to do?” She asked because she knew from his tone that there was more. He wanted her involved. They all did.
“I only want you to join us. We’re all still family.”
Sierra smiled. The residents of Mercy Ranch were more than family. They’d seen each other through some of the roughest times. They kept one another motivated. In the past couple of years, a few of them had gotten married, including Kylie’s marriage to Carson West, Isaac’s brother and the oldest son of Jack West. Jack owned and operated Mercy Ranch. It was his way of giving back to soldiers who had fought and been injured.
“You want me to help, don’t you?” she asked, knowing his real purpose for bringing up the dinner.
He grinned. “Yeah, I want you to help.”
“I’ll help,” she said. She wasn’t excited about it, but it would show them all that she hadn’t closed herself off completely.
“Good.” He lifted his arm to check the time. “About Max...”
“Another interfering male?” she added.
“No, he isn’t. He had a friend, a business associate. Max understands PTSD.”
“Right, but I don’t need him mucking about in my life.”
“Mucking about?”
“Go! I have work to do. Remember, I run this wedding venue for your father. And if you see him, tell him I’m not good at all of this happily-ever-after stuff.”
“I think he’s hoping it’ll rub off on you. I’m starting to think it must be working. A person who says stuff like ‘mucking about’ has obviously been reading some romance novels.”
“I don’t believe in romance.” She hid her face so he wouldn’t see the heat traveling up her cheeks.
“Don’t let Max get under your skin. He’s not much of a romantic, either. Too busy. I keep telling him women like it when a man shows up. Maybe someday he’ll find one he cares enough to show up for.”
“I don’t need to know about Max St. James.” Sierra shot him a look and then picked up the file and walked out of her office. She had a meeting and the last thing she wanted was to have her client’s brother on her mind as they met to discuss wedding details.
* * *
Max stood outside the doorway to Sierra Lawson’s office, catching the last few sentences of her conversation with Isaac West. He hadn’t planned on coming back today, but when he’d gotten home, his sister had informed him she had an appointment at the Stable wedding venue and he had to accompany her because, after all, it was his money she was spending.
He definitely hadn’t planned on listening in on a private conversation. But he hadn’t walked away quickly enough and had heard his name mentioned. Both were reasons to stay and listen. Now he had to make another decision: make himself known or walk away.
“Max, did you find her?” Melody’s question made the decision for him.
“That dirty rat.” He heard Sierra gasp, accompanied by Isaac’s deep laugh. “Listening in on private conversations.”
He stepped into her office, trying hard to be his normal composed self. After all, he was Max St. James. He knew how to keep his expression neutral to make the best dea
l. He didn’t let anything or anyone get under his skin.
So why did he feel like a teenager being called into the principal’s office? He pulled on the brim of the cowboy hat he wore and managed to not shuffle his feet.
“I didn’t hear much, and most of what I did assured me we won’t be best friends.”
“Max!” his sister gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. “I apologize for him,” she said to Sierra. “He isn’t usually this rude.”
“I don’t need you to defend me, Mel,” he told his sister. “I did listen to your conversation. But I didn’t mean to. I apologize. And Isaac’s portrayal of me is wrong. Mostly wrong.”
Sierra glared, her hazel-green eyes dancing with fire. He nearly smiled. Instead he opted for contrite, but, man, it was hard to do.
Sierra glanced from him to Isaac. She didn’t say anything and didn’t really need to. Her expression said it all. She was angry, cornered and...beautiful.
“I have to get home to my wife.” Isaac headed for the door. “Godspeed, my friend.”
“Prayers appreciated,” Max joked. Because he’d known Isaac most of his life, he knew that Isaac would never let him be “Max St. James, Tech Tycoon.” With Isaac, he was just Max, number 32 on the Hope High basketball and baseball teams, a decent partner in team roping and someone most parents warned their kids to steer clear of.
“Men!” Melody snorted as Isaac left. “Now, let’s show my brother the venue. He’s going to love it so much, he’ll want to get married here.”
“Oh, are you engaged, Mr. St. James?” Sierra asked, her wide-eyed expression telling him she knew he wasn’t.
“No and I have no intentions of getting married anytime soon. Let’s have a look at the venue and then we can discuss the plans that have already been made.”
Sierra led them through the building that had been built like an overlarge stable. The main area, longer than it was wide and with a cathedral ceiling, was the wedding chapel. What might have been an indoor arena was the reception area. The entire venue was light and airy. Stained glass in the chapel allowed warm, golden light to seep into the large, open room.
The Rancher's Holiday Hope Page 2