Finding Stefanie

by Susan May Warren

  The second horse had wandered up, but Stefanie didn’t reach out to her. Lincoln watched, a slow smile flooding through him as the bay acted jealous, like a child on a playground wanting a piece of candy also. She nudged Stefanie, who smiled and handed the horse an alfalfa treat from the bag she carried.

  “Hey there, pretty,” she said, rubbing the horse’s nose. “Want to come and live on Mr. Cash’s ranch? He’ll take good care of you.”

  He would? Her words ignited something warm inside him. Yes, he would take care of them. Lincoln moved closer to Stefanie, his hand out, wanting to pet the horse. But the animal stepped back, shying away.

  “Let her come to you, Lincoln.” Stefanie handed him an alfalfa ball. “Just stand here, and let her trust you.” She gave him a smile, one so full of confidence that he took the treat and held it out.

  He’d probably get his hand bitten off.

  Standing next to her, waiting for the horse to respond as Stefanie spoke in low tones to the animal she embraced, Lincoln felt a wave of shame sweep through him. “I’m sorry I called them ugly,” he said quietly.

  “I know. You just had to know their story, and suddenly they became beautiful, didn’t they?”

  He looked at the herd, the bays and blacks and roans, their strength and size, and especially the way all of them seemed to have at least one ear perked in his direction. As if waiting for his response.

  “Yes.”

  Stefanie smiled at him so sweetly that he felt as if he might be in high school for the way his heart exploded. “Look. You made a friend.”

  The bay had hesitantly decided to give him another chance. Not unlike, he hoped, Stefanie. When the horse nipped at his hand, Lincoln instinctively recoiled.

  “She’s not going to hurt you,” Stefanie said, putting her hand under his, amusement in her eyes. “Lincoln Cash isn’t afraid, is he?”

  “Listen, Dances with Horses, not everyone can talk to the animals. Besides, she’s got awfully big teeth.”

  “All the better to eat you with.” She lifted his hand toward the animal. “Don’t move, Superhero.”

  He sort of liked the new nickname.

  With her hand still under his, he waited. Sure enough, the horse moved closer, nudging him for his touch.

  “Horses are really like giant dogs.”

  “I don’t see these dogs wanting to fetch my slippers.”

  “When they don’t feel threatened, they want to reach out. They want to connect.”

  Lincoln looked at her, something about her words tugging at him. She met his gaze. She had such gorgeous eyes, dark and mysterious. Yet today, full of forgiveness.

  “Can I ask you a question, Lincoln?”

  He rubbed the horse’s nose. “Does it have to do with my purchasing the population of a dog pound?”

  She laughed. “Why did you come to Montana? to Phillips?”

  He ran his hand down the horse’s neck, mimicking Stefanie. “To start a film festival.” That answer felt strangely hollow, so he tried again, putting more charm, more drawl into his voice. “And, of course, for the neighborhood.”

  She rolled her eyes, and he laughed.

  “You know what’s most interesting about these horses? They grew a winter coat, and it covered up all these scars you see now. We wouldn’t even have seen many of them if we hadn’t been grooming off their winter coats. But by the time we saw the scars, we had already recognized how precious and alive and worth saving these horses were. And it didn’t matter how they’d been hurt. We already loved them.” Stefanie stepped away from the horse and headed toward the truck.

  The horse she’d left stayed at the rail, nickering after her. Needing her, it seemed.

  Lincoln followed Stefanie, aware that he might have more in common with his new herd than he wanted to let on.

  Libby had been on the verge of tears all day. She couldn’t look at her sister, could hardly pour coffee, and mostly just wanted to hide in the bathroom and sob.

  “Libby, I don’t want you hanging around that boy anymore.” Her father had been judgmental, condescending, chauvinistic, and downright unreasonable.

  She’d stared at him as she set his toast down in front of him this morning, a hundred words rising to the surface. She wasn’t a child anymore—she had turned nineteen four months ago. Where was the Christian love and acceptance he’d raised her to have? And what about Missy? She had a corral of boyfriends, from Luther McKinney to Andy Rider from the Silver Buckle, and her father hadn’t uttered a murmur of complaint. Not only that, but ever since that kiss at the diner, and even when she’d hugged Gideon at Lincoln Cash’s house, he hadn’t made the slightest attempt to kiss her.

  Even if she sometimes wanted him to.

  She’d watched her father ladle sweetener into his decaf coffee and add nonfat milk to his oatmeal, then sank down into a chair, her hand flat against the checked orange and yellow, flannel-backed plastic tablecloth, and schooled her voice. “Daddy, Gideon is a nice guy. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

  Her father glanced at her. “I’m sure you believe that, honey. But I’ve seen boys like him before, and I don’t think he’s the one for you.” He picked up his spoon. “Besides, with you leaving for college in the fall, don’t you think it’s better if you keep things at a distance between you?”

  She looked down, running her finger along the tablecloth. She couldn’t tell him that she’d been thinking of not going to Bible college. Maybe staying here in Phillips . . . with . . . Gideon.

  Libby got up, that realization hot in her chest. She poured herself a cup of coffee. “He’s my friend. And he’ll notice if I stop coming around.”

  “You don’t have to be unfriendly to him. Just . . . don’t go out to Mr. Cash’s place. Gideon will get the message. I’m sure it’s not the first time.”

  “That’s not fair. He’s gotten a lot of raw deals in his life.”

  “Like jail?” Her father lifted his gaze to hers.

  “The apostle Paul went to jail,” she said softly, not looking at him as she said it.

  Her father had seen right through her comment and given her a small shake of his head.

  She closed her eyes, feeling raw. She didn’t want to admit that she lived for lunchtime, for that hour every day when she and Gideon walked around the Big K as he told her about his life back in Rapid City before his imprisonment and after. His confession to her had opened a door to trust, and although some of his stories made her want to cry—and more than once she had broken down on the way back to the diner—every day he seemed a little happier. A little less broken.

  And she fell for him a little bit more.

  She loved him for the gentleness he’d shown his sisters and the way he threw himself into every project Lincoln gave him. She loved him for the way he looked at life, despite being beaten by it, and because he believed, truly believed, he could make something of himself. She loved how he talked to her quietly, watching for her reactions, as if he didn’t want to hurt her. And she loved how he looked at her, all his emotions in his eyes, even if he didn’t voice them.

  He loved her too. She knew it, and the fact that he hadn’t even tried to hold her hand made her love him more.

  Finally she’d given in to that truth and embraced it. Maybe, if he saw her love for him, her compassion, her acceptance, he’d see Christ’s love there too. At least that’s what she told herself.

  “Daddy—”

  “Let Missy take the lunch today.” He’d set his coffee down and given her a sad smile. “Trust me, will you?”

  She put her hand over her mouth, because everything inside her wanted to cry out in pain, and nodded.

  Lincoln Cash had a sweetness about him that could get a girl into big trouble. Stefanie added another log to her glowing fire in the hunting cabin fireplace. The night air bore a briskness in its touch, the way it snuck under the door.

  She’d arrived home from her day with Lincoln to find the cabin chilly and eerily quiet. And hearing Lincoln’s dra
wl, his laughter and teasing still in her ears.

  Yes, the man could be very dangerous, especially when he smiled at her in that eye-twinkling, lopsided way, the wind drifting his scent—a rich cologne—her direction. Stefanie could hardly believe she’d spent the afternoon with him and hadn’t wanted to strangle him once.

  Well, maybe once. But he’d backpedaled quickly after his comment about the condition of the horses, and when he wrote a check to purchase the entire herd, he’d etched a foothold in her heart.

  Especially after looking scared—and she’d seen scared in the eyes of people she’d trained to work with horses enough to recognize it. After all, despite their own fear, horses could hurt or even kill a person without realizing it. Yes, Lincoln had been nervous, at the very least.

  She had to like a man who knew he wasn’t made of steel.

  Which made calling him Superhero that much more delightful.

  Dances with Horses. She smiled at that memory, then opened a jar of peanut butter, took out a spoon, and dug out a heaping tablespoon of creamy dessert. She liked the name nearly as much as Defender of the Oppressed. It felt a thousand times better than Ranch Hand.

  Standing at the door, she looked down at the house. Dinner had been quiet tonight. Gideon spoke little about what he did at Lincoln’s, although Stefanie had seen him wearing a tool belt and carrying boards to the barn as she unloaded the horses from the trailer into Lincoln’s corral. She’d agreed—admittedly without much coercion—to return to Lincoln’s ranch tomorrow and teach him how to care for the horses. She should also help him track down a wrangler.

  In fact, the day had stirred up all sorts of ideas. Like the fact that Lincoln Cash wasn’t the only celebrity buying up property and moving to Montana to start a ranch. She’d read about others too. Other wannabe cowboys who needed people like her—real ranchers—to teach them how to ride and care for their animals, how to run a ranch.

  Staring out at the lime green grass, the fields dotted by lazy cattle, she wondered if perhaps helping Lincoln care for his animals might be an opportunity from God.

  There she went again, dreaming of what she didn’t have, kindling the fires of discontentment. What was she thinking? She’d always be a ranch hand, the Noble who stayed behind, birthed the cows, shod the horses. And she should be happy—seeing Macey and Haley and Gideon living out of their car should have given her a hard shake. Why couldn’t she open her eyes and see what she had here—a family, land, a purpose, and now an opportunity to help Gideon and his sisters.

  When had the ranch turned from refuge to prison?

  She tossed the spoon into the sink. Piper and Nick had updated the cabin with contemporary artwork Piper brought from Kalispell, which went oddly well with the vintage fifties-style fridge and white Formica countertops and table. Although small—with only two bedrooms off the living area, separated by a tiny bath—the cabin had absorbed the love Piper and Nick had brought into their first home, and Stefanie felt like an intruder. Piper’s towering stack of books beside the worn leather sofa and a Bible on the round pine table next to an empty stone coaster betrayed a passion for reading so much like Stefanie’s father, Bishop, had had. No wonder Stefanie leaned on Piper more and more for wisdom.

  Piper had become the sister Stefanie had always longed for. Why couldn’t she have arrived ten years earlier?

  Then again, if she had, Nick wouldn’t have been ready to let go of his past and embrace the future God had for him.

  Stefanie wondered when she might be ready too. She sank into an overstuffed chair before the ledgestone fireplace, watching the flames, listening to the crackling. How many hours had she sat in front of the fire, listening to the quiet house, when she’d come home from college halfway through her freshman year? Her father had tried to pry from her the reason for her early return, but she’d wound it so tightly inside her, shoving it into the darkness, that she couldn’t bear to unravel it.

  She could still feel it sometimes—the hard coil of pain deep inside. A pain that stung and left a harsh taste in her mouth.

  A bitter root.

  A verse from Pastor Pike’s sermon slunk into her thoughts: “Look after each other so that none of you fails to receive the grace of God. Watch out that no poisonous root of bitterness grows up to trouble you, corrupting many.”

  Stefanie rubbed her hands on her thermal shirt, then reached for a plaid fringed afghan. Maybe she did have a bitter root. Something embedded and stubborn and poisonous inside her. Tears bit into her eyes. She didn’t want to be bitter, but as she remembered her tone with Lincoln when he’d first arrived, it sounded . . .

  Bitter.

  How could she be bitter? Yet the past oozed into her mind, and she felt again the fist of betrayal as she watched her boyfriend—had Doug ever been her boyfriend or was he just the man who had used her?—draw another woman into his embrace. She saw herself hide in the bathroom, pulling herself together, aware that she had turned into someone she didn’t know. Someone who had given the best parts of herself to a man who didn’t cherish them.

  And to think she’d believed that when he invited her out for a fancy dinner at a nice hotel, he’d had candlelight and dinner on his mind.

  Apparently not with her.

  She closed her eyes against the voices, the ones inside that called her a tramp. Dirty.

  A voice that said she had betrayed everything she believed in. Betrayed herself.

  Maybe she did have a root of bitterness inside her, poisoning her. Poisoning her relationships with men. Poisoning her ability to be content. Poisoning her ability to trust.

  How did one yank out the root of bitterness?

  Stefanie winced and reached for Piper’s Bible, looking up the verse in Hebrews 12. Her gaze went to the first part of verse 15. “Look after each other so that none of you fails to receive the grace of God.” She’d thought God had been speaking to her on Lincoln’s behalf so that he wouldn’t miss out on His grace.

  What if He’d also been speaking on her behalf? What if God had brought Lincoln here . . . for her? to show her His grace?

  The fire crackled as a log fell in the hearth and sent out a spray of sparks.

  Stefanie pressed a hand to her heart, remembering Lincoln’s smile, the easiness between them today, and realized she wanted to give Lincoln a chance to be a friend.

  And not only for his sake.

  But for hers.

  CHAPTER 10

  “AREN’T YOU HOT STUFF!” Piper set her magazine aside as Stefanie came down the stairs, barefoot and carrying a pair of spiky black boots. Piper sat in the chair Stefanie’s father had always occupied in the family room of their house, back in the corner, where he could survey the room, the stone fireplace, the leather sofa, the passage to the kitchen. Bishop Noble’s stack of books and his Bible still occupied the table; even after two years, no one had moved them.

  “Who?” Stefanie stopped at the bottom of the stairs and glanced at Macey, who’d sprawled on the sofa, reading one of Stefanie’s ancient Nancy Drew books. Apparently mysteries never went out of style. Haley had built a house for her kitten with blankets and pillows and was playing on the wool braided carpet in front of the fire. She looked up as Stefanie entered and smiled.

  How Stefanie longed to hear words from Haley. But the fact that the little girl now climbed onto her lap freely or occasionally gave her a hug seemed words enough.

  “You, silly,” Piper said, one eyebrow tilted up at Stefanie’s attire.

  So she wore a little black dress. What else did a girl wear to dinner? She wanted to look nice for him. Just a little. He’d been on extraspecial nice-guy behavior all week.

  “Lincoln’s making me dinner,” Stefanie said. “It’s just dinner. We’re going to talk about his new horses, and he wants to show me his house. It’s nothing.”

  Piper smiled, one hand on her growing belly. “Yeah. I know exactly where making dinner leads.”

  Stefanie laughed. Two years ago, Piper had hired on as a so
-called cook even though she hadn’t a clue how to boil water. As an undercover reporter, she’d been hunting for clues to a crime. Along the way, she’d had her heart stolen by her chief suspect. Yes, dinner could be a dangerous thing.

  Stefanie, however, wouldn’t be taken in by Lincoln’s charm. He’d taken a chance on her pick of horses and had even listened to her advice, but she’d successfully calloused herself against his devastating smile, his lethal charisma. She could learn from the mistakes of her youth.

  “We’re neighbors, Piper. That’s it. Nothing more. Really. Yes, he’s nice. And what’s not to like? Smart, handsome. And he’s incredible with the horses we bought.”

  “We?”

  “I helped.” She finger-combed her dark hair. She’d let it down tonight, but it always had a mind of its own. “I can’t believe I actually talked him into buying the entire herd—all ten horses—but he’s great with them. He’s bonding with a few of his favorites. He’s actually been out in the barn, spending hours grooming them, feeding them, even learning how to handle them.”

  “Maybe he’s more of a cowboy than you thought.”

  “Oh, he’s got cowboy in him all right. From his Stetson to his snakeskin boots, although I’m not sure how much is the real deal and how much is an act. But he’s still not my type.”

  “What do you mean he’s not your type? You have something against tall, blond, and heartbreakingly handsome?”

  Stefanie laughed. “Not in the least. From a distance. But I’ve been there, done that. . . .”

  Stefanie’s humor vanished. Sometimes her mouth ran ahead of her brain. But she’d been privy to a few of Piper’s darkest moments, namely when she tried to run out on Nick in his hour of need, so . . .

  “In college, I sort of fell for the campus jock. He was a football star, a senior, and gorgeous. His father owned the local car dealership, so he was a bit of a star on campus too.” She had long since tucked Doug back in her mind, but now his laughter, the way he’d two-stepped up to her at a dance that first night on campus, twined through her memories.