by Deb Kastner
He glanced in her direction to see how she was taking the news. Her face looked pale, and her eyebrows were scrunched over her nose. She looked like a little girl who was concentrating too hard on a new, foreign task.
He probably wasn’t all that far from the truth.
Granted, she was no little girl. She’d turned into a beautiful woman, inside and out. But her mind must be swirling with conflicting thoughts, and none of them pleasant.
“Who else could it be?” she demanded, sounding as if she expected him to have an answer.
What infuriated him was that he didn’t have the answer. He hadn’t found time to follow up on John Needleson, and was no closer to solving the mystery of the unknown vandal than when he’d begun.
Who else cared whether or not Dixie stayed on the land? And why stoop to vandalism to make a point?
He hadn’t thought Ellis to be so foolish, for all his bluster, and he’d been right. His gut instinct served him well in that case. But this same instinct was blaring now, telling him more, warning him that what they faced—what Dixie faced—was more dangerous than a mere adolescent on the rampage.
A man vandalizing for vandalism’s sake, or out to get his kicks, didn’t leave warning messages.
“How well do you know John Needleson?” he barked.
“John? Why do you ask?”
He cringed inwardly at the informal use of Needleson’s name. Irritated, he pinned her with a look that said Just tell me.
She shrugged. “I don’t. I called every number in the newspaper advertising horses for sale. As soon as he heard my name, he really perked up. He must have realized we were neighbors. Anyway, he told me he thought he had the ideal horse for me.”
Erik frowned. He’d been suspicious the day Dixie brought Victory home, and now warning sirens were screaming in his head.
John Needleson had been in horses all his life. He knew better than to sell a new rider a green broke yearling.
Unless he was doing it on purpose. And from what Dixie said, it sounded like John knew exactly what he was doing.
Putting Dixie in danger.
He kicked himself for not realizing it earlier. John Needleson was a threat to Dixie. And his gut told him John was the man behind the vandalism.
The only question was Why?
“How did he act when you were over there?” he asked through clenched teeth.
Her gaze darted to his, but he hooded his look so he wouldn’t give anything away.
“He was friendly,” she began, staring down at her fingers, which were laced tightly in her lap. “A little withdrawn, maybe. But his wife passed away recently.”
“Two years ago.”
She frowned, the light leaving her eyes for a split second before she regrouped. “Sometimes love is so strong it lasts forever.”
Ouch. That hurt.
He swallowed hard, dislodging the lump in his throat. Her message couldn’t be more clear if she’d stamped it on the dashboard.
“Go on,” he said when he’d recovered from the unspoken blow.
“I don’t know what this has to do with anything,” she objected, her voice as sharp as a needle.
“Humor me.”
“Well, we talked about Victory. And a little about his wife, although he shied away from the subject.” He heard the catch in her throat. “I tried to make an overture of friendship, with us being near neighbors and all, but he didn’t seem ready to accept it.”
Yeah, he’d just bet John wasn’t after friendship. He had always been crotchety.
“Which is odd,” she said, sounding perplexed.
He tensed. “Why is that?”
“Because when I offered for him to visit the retreat, he pretty much promised he would.”
Erik’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.
John had visited, all right. With a bowie knife.
But the question lingered, one that he was certain would keep him up nights until he figured the answer to the riddle.
Why would John Needleson care one way or another about Dixie’s retreat?
Dixie called it an early night and tucked herself in her room at the lodge. She’d already put her own finishing touches on her personal space.
Keeping with the rustic theme, she’d decorated with old-fashioned quilted patterns on everything from the curtains to the nightstand to the oversize comforter draping her twin bed. She liked the result so much she was considering doing all the bedrooms in the lodge in a similar style.
If she could get to town to buy the necessary materials before something else bad happened. It was a good thing she didn’t believe in bad luck, because it appeared to be following her with a vengeance these days.
She’d always been an optimist, with her faith in God as a basis for seeing the glass half-full. But the past few months had taken their toll on her. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally.
The glass looked precariously empty at the moment.
Erik’s accusation that John Needleson was behind the vandalism stayed with her, despite her original inclination to disregard it.
Had John purposely sold her a horse she couldn’t ride in order to endanger her? How could that be? Her run-in with him in town seemed to confirm her suspicions, but she still couldn’t figure out why his animosity was being shined in her direction.
It was true he hadn’t exactly welcomed her with open arms when she’d visited him, but then again, she’d seen the vulnerability beneath his tough exterior, empathized with his grief over the loss of his beloved wife.
And it was the first time they’d met.
John might be bitter, but he had no reason to take it out on Dixie. And as far as the horse went, she didn’t recall informing him of her level of experience regarding horsemanship. He’d probably naturally assumed her to be an expert.
Brushing thoughts of vandalism aside, she turned her mind to her biggest problem. A walking, seldom talking, often brooding, sometimes laughing package of trouble, with a capital T.
Erik Wheeler.
It was time to stop avoiding the obvious and face up to the truth. Erik had become her right-hand man, and more than that, her dearest friend.
And now she was experiencing feelings she’d never thought to encounter in her lifetime—and certainly not as compelling and emotion laden as they were.
She’d once thought herself to be in love with Abel, but now she questioned those feelings. She’d been young and idealistic, and Abel offered everything she thought she wanted.
But her love for Abel had been soft, soothing. If it was love at all. She’d never experienced with him the depth of response she felt with Erik. Abel never made her heart leap out of her chest and her mind sing praises to God.
Abel was not a lover. Not as a husband should be.
The truth was, she’d been a young woman trying to escape her father’s heavy hand. It troubled her now to realize she might have lived her whole life without knowing the kind of passion Erik instilled in her.
She would have settled for second best.
The realization didn’t hurt nearly as much as she would have expected. Perhaps she’d always known. As Abel had known.
She remembered his parting words, how much they’d torn her in two at the time. Now, she finally understood what he was trying to say.
You’re not in love with me. Go to South Dakota. Find God’s best for yourself.
He’d known. He’d understood how she had seen him, yet she’d filled a need in his life, as well.
She waited for her heart to fill with grief, with the sense of rejection she repeatedly tried to deny, but no pain occurred. Nothing flowed in her heart but peace, and for the first time, she could look back on her relationship with Abel with open eyes and a clear heart.
Her time with Abel had been so short. She’d first seen him at a local missions conference, speaking on his work in Pakistan as a tent maker. She’d been enthralled by his tales, and by the tall, thickly built blonde who’d dedicated his l
ife to such a tough task.
Afterward, she’d spoken to him about her own mission dream in South Dakota. He’d encouraged her in it, and asked if he could call her sometime.
Less than twenty-four hours passed before he’d called and asked her to dinner. It only took one date to discover how much they had in common, and before she knew it, they were engaged and approaching their denomination about the work in South Dakota.
And then the politics of South Asia went into chaos, and Abel felt compelled to go and help. She couldn’t stop him, nor would she have wanted to.
Maybe she knew all along his true place was in South Asia. Maybe she’d known all along she would only be with Abel for a time.
A season for everything, the Word said. Who was she to argue with the Bible?
Abel encouraged her to pursue her work here in Custer. She’d even had a letter from him, detailing his work in Pakistan and inquiring about her work here at the retreat.
She smiled softly, though no one was there to see it. Funny how the pain of her loss had lost its sharp edges, becoming almost a comfort to her instead of distress.
Abel would approve of all she’d done. He would like Erik, just as she did.
No, that wasn’t quite right.
What she felt for Erik—friendship, respect and appreciation—those things Abel would share. But there was a part of her heart that responded to Erik as a man, and she harbored that deep in her heart, cherishing the feeling, sharing it with no one else.
Up until now she hadn’t even dared admit it openly to herself.
And it confused her. She’d never felt this way with Abel. His soft kiss made her feel warm and comfortable.
A mere look from Erik sent her heart into fits.
But how could two loves be so different? Her love for Erik was based on common interests, just as with Abel. But maturity gave her extra insight this time around.
She wasn’t dependent on Erik, though the day wasn’t complete without having him at her side.
She’d leaned on Abel, let him do the difficult tasks in starting a new mission, while she rode on his coattails. And when the going got tough, he rejected her.
No wonder she bristled every time Erik did anything for her. She wanted something different with him, something more than a platonic relationship that would have been convenient for all concerned.
It still bothered her that she had to depend on anyone—especially a man—to complete her work here. She knew it was her pride speaking, and she inwardly cringed as guilt washed over her.
She did depend on Erik.
She naturally turned to him with her problems. But he likewise turned to her. Hadn’t he been talking with her more and more often?
That alone was a minor miracle. Was this what a mature love relationship was all about?
She didn’t have the opportunity to pursue that question as someone knocked rapidly on her door, which led to an outside landing. The landing was graced by a small porch complete with an old wooden rocking chair for watching the mountain sunsets.
“Who is it?” she called, not bothering to rise from the edge of her bed.
“Erik.”
She tensed. He’d never come to her room before, and she couldn’t imagine why he’d be here now. Unless there was a problem.
More vandalism?
Chapter Sixteen
Dixie’s heart jumped into her throat as she launched off the bed, not even habitually running an open palm across the comforter to straighten the wrinkles, as was in her perfectionist nature to do.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded as she swung the door open without the pretense of a greeting.
Erik leaned his forearm against the doorframe and leaned toward her, his lips curling up in the corners just enough to suggest a smile. “Something have to be wrong for a man to visit a pretty lady?”
The skin on her face flushed with warmth under his scrutiny. She swore she’d never heard so many words from Erik before, except when he was talking to his beloved horses.
And he’d called her “pretty”!
“Well, no. I suppose not,” she squeaked. She swallowed, trying to regain her normal voice before she was forced to speak again.
With his free hand, he tipped his hat. “I have the team hitched.”
“To the hay wagon?”
His blue eyes twinkled under the shadow of his black hat.
What else? he asked without speaking.
Her face went from warm to scorching. Of course, the team would be hitched to the hay wagon. It was the only wagon the retreat owned.
“Let’s go,” he said in his usual gruff way, but it was more a question than a command.
“Okay,” she agreed, not having to think twice about learning to drive a team—or spending time with Erik.
“Oh, wait!” she exclaimed, trying to gather her wits about her. She scrambled back toward her knotted-pine dresser where a stack of horse books lay in a haphazard pile. She quickly sifted through them, at last finding the one she sought.
“Here,” she said, waving the book in the air like a trophy. “We’ll be needing this.”
Erik cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. Still, she could see laughter in his eyes.
Which was nice, for a change, and she didn’t care if she put it there, or more accurately, how she put it there.
He was too often broody. Laughter would be good for him, even if he kept it locked inside.
She’d show him just how much a person could learn from a book. She’d studied this particular book with extra attention, and felt quite certain—especially with the new hands-on horse knowledge she’d received from Erik—she could handle a team the first time out.
She knew the lines, and she knew the lingo. She smiled, secretly anticipating surprising Erik with her wisdom.
She exclaimed in delight when she saw the black-and-white Border collie in the back of the hay wagon.
Her angel!
“This here’s Lucy,” Erik said, hoping to keep the introduction short.
“Lucy is your dog?”
Lucy. She should have known.
“Yep.”
“I see.” She greeted the dog with the enthusiasm she didn’t want to show Lucy’s owner. But she supposed nothing bad had come from his little deletion. And she’d missed Lucy’s company since she had moved into the main lodge.
His mouth was still crooked in a semigrin when he lifted her onto the buckboard, his large hands spanning her waist. A thousand little darts of electricity bolted through her, and it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. Her head swam with the delicious feeling.
“This one’s Cindy, and that there is Suzy,” he introduced, pointing at the horses left to right. When they heard their names, the horses fidgeted in their harnesses.
“Cindy and Suzy. How lovely.”
She admired the matched pair of palomino mares. Suzy was darker than Cindy, but other than that, they were a perfectly matched team.
“They’re full sisters,” he explained.
“I wondered how they looked so much alike.”
Erik’s grin cracked through to a smile. “Yep.”
“Cindy and Suzy,” she said again, liking how it made the horses’ ears perk up. “And I should always call them left to right.”
He conceded her small victory with a tug on his hat, which served only to shadow the amusement in his eyes.
She smiled and took up the lines, careful to lace them up between her pinkie and fourth finger and down between her thumb and first finger of each hand, just as the book illustrated.
He grunted, which, she supposed, was the closest she’d get to him telling her how impressed he was with her knowledge.
Excitement welling, she snapped the lines over the horses’ backs, calling “Git up!” in her best John Wayne voice.
Cindy and Suzy didn’t move an inch with her command, and neither did the wagon. Chagrined, she flushed heatedly and darted a glance at Erik.
He didn’t so much
as blink as he leaned back into the seat and put his arm around the back. “Talk ’em through it,” he suggested quietly. “Use their names.”
“Of course,” she snapped back, though his only crime was being his usual kind self. The truth was she was annoyed with herself for forgetting what she’d learned so quickly.
Use the horses’ names. Any idiot would know that. And there was something about calling left and right hovering at the top of her brain somewhere just out of reach.
Oh, yes. The commands.
Straightening her spine, she darted another glance at Erik and cleared her throat.
Let’s try this again.
“Cindy, come gee. Suzy, go haw!”
The horses twitched in anticipation when she called their names, and to her delight the cart lurched at the same time her heart did.
For about one second.
After that, both the wagon and her heart died down to a standstill. She wanted to scream in frustration.
Instead, she sighed loudly and glared at Erik as if he were the cause of the problem. She knew she was being irrational, and she didn’t care.
“What now?” she grumbled, making a meager attempt to keep her voice level.
He gestured toward her book. “That thing tell you to do this?”
She glanced down at the book in her lap and nodded. “Yes. I mean, well, I think it did.”
“That so,” he replied, definitely amused.
“Why? What did I do wrong?”
He chuckled. “For starters, you just told the horses to switch places. A little difficult with them being harnessed up and all.”
She scowled, then gave it up and broke out in a laugh despite herself. “Poor things. I really confused them, didn’t I?”
He shrugged. “They’ll get over it.”
“I must have gotten it backward. I thought you were supposed to call them something left to right.”
“Their names. Haw and Gee are directions—go left and right.”
“Oh,” she said, deflated. She unlaced the lines and tossed them toward Erik. “You want to take over?”
The twinkle in his eye turned into a hard gleam as he swung his arm over her head and snatched up the lines, immediately lacing them through his rough and tethered hands.