She needed Cole.
She walked over to the hospital bed, still warm from his body, and found herself climbing in, laying her head on his pillow, hoping to catch his scent. She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around herself, feeling frail and alone.
Lord, please, please save Cole. The prayer felt like a moan. How would she live without him? The thought left her breathless, empty.
“The love of the Lord remains forever with those who fear him. His salvation extends to the children’s children of those who are faithful to his covenant, of those who obey his commandments!” The words from Bishop’s favorite psalm filled her mind. How many times had he asked her to read it to him, as he’d savored the words? She remembered wondering how God’s salvation, His righteousness could be passed from Bishop to Nick, scoffing at that thought.
Regret burned inside her. She should have trusted Nick. Should have known that he had the character of Bishop. The character of Cole. Like father, like sons.
CJ bore the character of both his fathers—his biological father and his adoptive father. She was so proud of him—she felt as if she might burst with love.
She closed her eyes at the sudden dread welling inside her. What would Nick do when—if—he found out about CJ? Would he try and take him from her? Would he enact vengeance, stripping from Cole the land Bishop left him?
Nick could contest the will. And win. Although Bishop hadn’t left her the land, he’d given her something else. Pecos.
Nick’s favorite horse. And if she thought Nick had been angry when he found out about Pecos . . .
“The love of the Lord remains forever with those who fear him.”
Maggy pressed her hand against her chest, hearing her own words the day she and Cole had tended the sick calf.
“He’s my responsibility.”
“No, he’s not, Mags. God’s in charge of this bum, and He’s going to do what’s right.”
“I’m not letting him die.”
“You might not have a choice. You’re always trying to take care of everyone to make sure no one gets hurt. It’s time to let it go, honey.”
Cole was right. She couldn’t let go. She spent every waking moment trying to keep the ranch running, her son warm and fed, her husband safe. And why?
She closed her eyes again, breathing hard as the truth broadsided her. Because, deep inside, she couldn’t believe that God was on her side. That He would protect her, would bless her if she didn’t create those blessings for herself. After all, she was just a ranch hand’s daughter, who’d gotten herself pregnant before marriage.
“His unfailing love toward those who fear him is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth. He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west.”
As the words filled her head, Maggy had an odd thought—what if all those times Bishop asked her to read were not for his benefit . . . but for hers?
“As far from us as the east is from the west . . .” Including the land from Bishop’s bequest, it took her an entire day to ride from one end of their property to another. She couldn’t even see the two edges of it.
“. . . as the height of the heavens above the earth . . .” There were days when she lay on her back, surrounded by alfalfa, and the sky appeared close enough to touch. Other times, at night, with the stars scattered like dandelions tossed to the wind, they seemed so far away they went on forever. She loved the land, and suddenly she realized why.
Because the land gave her a glimpse of God. Showed her the creativity, the power, the intricacies of her heavenly Father. The depth and breadth of His love. Being a rancher had taught her that her entire life sat squarely in God’s hands. So far, the Almighty had given her more than she could have asked for or dreamed of. A healthy son. A devoted husband.
And now a fresh start.
Lord, help me to trust You. I’ve been afraid to do that. To trust You with CJ. I’m afraid of losing him to Nick, afraid that Nick will hurt him. But I’m also afraid that he will love Nick more than he loves Cole.
Her breath caught on her thoughts. She’d been afraid that she’d love Nick more than Cole. But loving Nick had only made her love for Cole richer. More precious. And by having two Noble men in his life, CJ would be even more the man of character.
Lord, You’ve given me so much. I’m giving it all back to You. Your will be done.
“Mom?” The door to the room opened, and Maggy turned as CJ came in.
Maggy rolled over, patting the space next to her on the bed. “Climb in, buckaroo. We’ll wait for Daddy together.”
He snuggled in beside her. She curled a hand around his waist. He sighed. “Is it true that Nick is my uncle?”
Maggy pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “He’s definitely family, CJ. In fact, you could probably say that after today, he and your father share more than blood.”
CJ wove his fingers through hers. “That’s cool,” he said softly.
“Yes,” Maggy murmured. “Very, very cool.”
Piper sat in the waiting room with Stefanie, Dutch, Lolly, John, and Saul Lovell, who’d had the kindness to visit his clients, waiting for Cole and Nick to return from surgery. She felt like one of the family. She also felt like the world’s greatest liar, her hand clutched around her cell phone in one pocket, her tape recorder in the other, her death grips on reality.
Outside, the sky matched their moods—it had turned to bullet silver and began pelting the ground with rain. The plinks on the windows were the only sounds to accompany their vigil in the tiny surgical waiting room.
Piper wanted to run far and fast and never return. But the fact that Nick had asked for her had kept her tethered, and she couldn’t break free. Not yet at least.
She dreaded the pain if Stefanie was right—that he was falling in love with her. Because, well, she loved him right back. Deep and strong and full of all the fairy-tale dreams she knew she could never have.
She wasn’t the sort of girl who could stay home and cook dinner and round up cattle. As Carter had tried to drill into her head over and over—she was simply playing a part.
She might be able to cook a few biscuits, learn to ride a horse, even figure out the hot spots for cell-phone reception, but she had no real future at the Silver Buckle. Especially when Nick discovered that everything she’d said and done had been to support a massive lie in order to hurt him.
Piper pressed her hand to her churning stomach.
She’d wait until he was out of surgery; then she’d disappear. He’d never have to know how much she had despised him.
Or how much she’d come to care for him.
Maggy and CJ came down the hall, looking rumpled and tired. She wondered where they’d gone and watched as CJ sat next to Dutch. Maggy walked to the window, rubbing her hands over her arms. Still dressed in the clothes from the rodeo, her hair curling in strings around her shoulders, she looked fragile. Yet she gazed out the window without tears.
Piper’s heart twisted—it couldn’t be easy to have both men one loved in the operating room at the same time. Piper got up, went to her. “I’m sorry about Cole,” she said softly.
Maggy glanced at her. “They’ll be okay.” She nodded, as if agreeing with herself. “I’m trusting that God has plans for both of them.”
Piper stared out the window, watching cars splash through puddles on the street and people cover their heads as they ran inside. An ambulance pulled up, lights off. “My mother died a couple years ago. Lung cancer. I hated the hospital—the smells, the sounds. The suffering felt suffocating.”
Maggy’s voice was gentle. “I’m sorry about your mother. I guess I always saw hospitals as a source of hope. But every time we came here over the past two years, Cole got a little worse. So I can see your point. So much suffering. It does invade a person’s soul.”
Piper leaned her forehead against the glass. It cooled her, jolted her awake. After sitting for four hours, she felt punky and fuzzy around the edges.
“I remember when Cole’s mom passed on. At first, the doctors were baffled by her disease. In the end, she had liver failure and died at home. She was never a healthy woman, but she was a trooper. We really never knew until the end how sick she was.” Maggy sighed. “The secrets we hold on to, the suffering we endure so others won’t have to.” She shook her head, lost in her thoughts.
Piper watched a woman open an umbrella and dash across the parking lot. “My mother left my father on a day like this. She endured a lot of suffering from him too.” Her voice felt distant even as she spoke, mired in the memory. “He was a horrible man, abusive and an alcoholic. The day she left him was the day my life started. I didn’t know until later that every day she lived in fear that he’d find us. He died when I was fifteen. We got a funeral notice from his sister. My mother didn’t attend. I think she always bled a little from what he’d done to her.”
“I’m sorry, Piper.” Maggy gave her a sympathetic smile. “I think we always carry the wounds the people we love inflict on us. The best we can hope for is to find someone who helps heal them, who loves us scars and all.”
Piper didn’t have scars; she had soul-deep wounds that sometimes felt as fresh as the day they’d been inflicted. “Once Cole has this transplant, will he be okay?”
Maggy shrugged. “Yes . . . well, if they can find out what is causing his liver damage. But it’ll give him a good chance. It should make him stronger, give us an opportunity to find a future for him.”
“A new start.”
Maggy wore a strange expression. “Thank you, Piper, for being here, for being with Nick. I think you gave him a reason to want to stick around the Silver Buckle. And if he weren’t here, then Cole wouldn’t be either.”
Piper frowned at that. Of course Maggy didn’t know about her investigation.
Maggy smiled. “He’s some cowboy, isn’t he?” She touched her arm. “I hope it works out between you two. I’d love to have you in the family.”
Piper stared after her as Maggy sat and put her arm around CJ. She leaned against Dutch and closed her eyes.
Piper felt nearly ill as she walked past them. What had she done? She longed for this—a family who cared and sacrificed for each other. But as usual, it felt just beyond her reach, as if she were looking at everything she ever wanted through a window, her nose pressed up against the glass. The longing was so alive that it felt like fire inside her.
She took off down the hall. She kept walking, past the nurses’ station, past the bank of elevators, down the back stairs. She needed air. But as she passed the chapel, music slowed her steps and drew her to the door.
A man stood in the front, singing a hymn. She hadn’t heard it before, but his deep and twangy voice reminded her of Nick’s. Tears burned her eyes, and as she wiped them away, she snuck in and sat in the back row, listening. A dozen or so people sat scattered in the pews.
The man finished the song, parked his guitar on a stand, and approached the podium. He was good-looking with a gaunt face, sandy brown hair, and an angular jaw, and he wore a denim shirt, jeans, and boots—not the usual attire of a pastor, but then again this was the West.
Piper leaned back in the pew, too tired to get up. She wondered if anyone would notice if she simply leaned over and fell asleep on the cushions again.
“I know that most of you are here because you have a loved one who is sick or dying. Today I’d like to give you hope from the book of Mark chapter 5.”
Piper’s eyes began to close as the pastor opened his Bible. She’d never been a person who relied on the whims of God. Her mother had believed that God watched over them, but Piper always felt her mom must have some sort of brain damage. After all, Piper had been there when her dad returned home in drunken rages. She’d felt the rage, heard her mother’s screams. Where was God then? Watching?
The thought made her want to retch.
The few times she’d attended church with her mother, anger had seeped into her as she listened to the sermons, and she’d found herself arguing with the pastor in her head. God simply didn’t notice the hurting, the wounded, as the pastor had indicated.
The pastor began to read: “‘A woman in the crowd had suffered for twelve years with constant bleeding. She had suffered a great deal from many doctors, and over the years . . .’”
Preachers were a lot like the counselors her mother had sent her to in those early years. The counselors might have meant well, but Piper had emerged from those sessions more angry, more bitter. More wounded.
See, I can’t go to church without having these sores opened. Piper rolled her eyes, looking for an opportunity to escape from the chapel.
“‘. . . she had spent everything she had to pay them, but she had gotten no better. In fact, she had gotten worse,’” the pastor continued.
Of course she had.
“‘She had heard about Jesus, so she came up behind him through the crowd and touched his robe. For she thought to herself, “If I can just touch his robe, I will be healed.”’”
Unexpected tears pricked Piper’s eyes at the woman’s desperation. She took a deep breath. So the woman was hopeless. So she’d tried everything. That wasn’t Piper—Piper had a successful life. A life that made a difference. She could heal herself, thank you.
“‘Immediately the bleeding stopped, and she could feel in her body that she had been healed of her terrible condition.’”
Piper’s eyes narrowed, angry that she still sat in the pew yet suddenly riveted on the story.
The preacher scanned the small audience. “It’s important for you to know that this woman was not only suffering in body but in soul. By Old Testament law, she was deemed unclean. She wasn’t allowed to go to the temple to sacrifice, wasn’t able to enjoy forgiveness, redemption, or a relationship with God. She’d been walking around with unredeemed sin and guilt, feeling dry and untouchable for twelve years. She wasn’t even supposed to be around people, yet here she was, touching a rabbi, a holy man.”
Piper heard her pulse in her ears. She knew how that might feel, to walk around with a ball of dirt and sickness inside, hoping to hide her illness, wanting so badly to reach out and not only be healed but be made whole.
Like Cole.
Instead, she hid behind her words, her reputation as a cutting-edge investigative reporter. When all along, she left the marks of her wounds on every life she touched. She recalled her editor’s words: “Piper, your work is good but jaded. Someday you’re going to go too far and fabricate what isn’t there. And then this paper is going to pay the price.”
Or Nick would pay the price.
Piper thought of him, risking his life for Cole, and she wanted to cry at her stupidity.
She didn’t want to bleed anymore. She didn’t want the bitterness, the anger, the fear that not only filled her body but stained everything she did—her work, her feelings about herself, even her ability to love Nick. Even if she could learn to trust him, he’d never trust her. She was dirty. Wounded.
Unlovable.
But, oh, how she longed to be clean.
The pastor read on: “‘Jesus realized at once that healing power had gone out from him, so he turned around in the crowd and asked, “Who touched my robe?”’”
See, that’s just like God to accuse. To blame the woman for wanting to be healed and free.
Piper’s mother had lived for years with guilt about leaving her husband—perpetuated by the women at her church who hadn’t the foggiest idea what it felt like to lie in bed in terror, dreading what the night might bring.
Piper scooted to the edge of the pew, poised to make a break for it.
“‘Then the frightened woman, trembling at the realization of what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and told him what she had done. And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace. Your suffering is over.”’”
Piper stared at the preacher. No condemnation? No blame? No “You brought this on yourself”? Just “Go in peace; you have
been healed”?
The pastor put his Bible aside before he spoke. “Jesus reached out to a woman who’d been ostracized from society, from Himself, and healed her from the inside out. All it took was her faith in God, her surrender to His healing power. Her willingness to reach out and touch Him.”
Piper clasped her hands between her knees, glad she sat in the back of the chapel. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be like the woman who had touched Jesus, to simply reach out. But where was Jesus when her dad was hitting her? when he’d thrown her across the tiny hotel room after their trailer caught fire and broken her arm? She traced the old scar, remembering her terror, remembering how Jimmy had tackled him and taken the rest of her beating on himself.
No, Jesus hadn’t been there then. And she certainly couldn’t count on Him to heal her now.
Besides, even if she fell at Nick’s feet and told him everything, peace would be the last thing he’d offer her.
But wait. He’d harbored a ten-year grudge against Cole and right now was offering him a piece of himself to save his life.
But Cole was his brother.
And Cole was dying.
She couldn’t exactly claim mortal wounds or a deadly disease. Not really.
Even if he had held her. Had asked her to stay . . .
Every cell within her wanted to scream yes! To start over and be the person she saw reflected in Nick’s eyes. To be healed. Made whole.
“He redeems me from death and crowns me with love and tender mercies.” Nick’s voice, a gentle recollection of their time at the Cathedral, filled her mind. She brushed it away, hurting.
Piper snuck from the chapel and closed the door gently behind her, her throat tight.
She stood outside the chapel, wrestling the urge to leave, to walk outside and never return. Certainly that would be best for everyone. She nearly jumped out of her tired skin when a hand pressed her shoulder. She turned and met Dutch’s grim look.
“Cole and Nick are out of surgery.”
Cole had entertained a few dreams about heaven. None of them, however, resembled this one: the eastern Montana landscape, the lime-colored grass, the roll of the land over hills and draws, the blue sky as far as he could see. Nor did he expect Suds inside the pearly gates, yet here he was, along with the squeak of saddle leather as Cole rode him across the field toward home.
Reclaiming Nick Page 26