Finding Stefanie

by Susan May Warren

  No. In this moment, she loved the part of Lincoln Cash she’d just seen.

  Suddenly he moved, curling his arm around her, holding her tight against him. His hand went to her cheek and finally—finally—he kissed her back.

  In fact, instead of holding her, Lincoln ran his hand behind her neck and kissed her like she’d never been kissed before. Not neighborly at all.

  When he pulled away, she held his wrist, her heart thumping through her chest—so much that she wondered if he could see it.

  Lincoln angled his forehead to hers, touching it. “Wow . . . I don’t know what to say. . . .”

  She smiled at him gently, not sure what to say either. Her mouth, however, apparently had a mind of its own. “It’s better than in the movies.”

  He swallowed, and then a smile broke out across his face, something honest and perfect. “Really?”

  He seemed as nervous as she was, and that—only that—stopped her from leaping from his arms and running back to the Silver Buckle. Gathering her breath, she managed a soft smile, praying she wasn’t the most gullible person on earth. She ran her hand down his face. “Oh yes, Superhero. Oh yes.”

  This couldn’t be any better. With him distracted, probably with that girl, he wouldn’t suspect it coming, wouldn’t know what had happened until his new life was shattered right before his eyes.

  Just like he’d done to others.

  Done to her.

  With so many people around, it had been difficult to get close to him, but perseverance had paid off. Now it would simply be one of many choices, one of many opportunities.

  And if fate stepped in, perhaps he wouldn’t be the only one who suffered. It seemed that justice, or perhaps irony, might be that kind.

  This, my love, is for you.

  The engine turned over and the car backed down the drive quietly, without the lights.

  For the third day in a row, Gideon had ended up with a corned beef on rye and hated it. He sat away from the group on a boulder at the edge of the yard—especially away from JB, who seemed to hold him personally responsible for Lincoln firing Luther. But after all the actor had done for Gideon—and mostly because he didn’t want to get blamed—he’d had to tell Lincoln about the tools Luther had been taking home from the work site.

  And it had stirred something unfamiliar inside Gideon when Lincoln believed him. Even thanked him.

  Sometimes Lincoln came down to sit with Gideon at lunch. He told him about movie stunts, like the Dex Ditch and Roll, which sounded so cool that Gideon thought he should probably try it.

  Maybe it would take his mind off the fact that Libby had failed to show up for lunch all week. He bit into his sandwich, nearly gagging on the spices in the bread, and washed it down with a cold soda. He put the sandwich back in the paper and folded it up. He didn’t care how hungry he got.

  He couldn’t help a wry shake of his head. Less than two months ago he had been digging out of garbage cans, stealing food, or raiding the Laundromat, hunting for petty change, hoping for enough quarters to feed his sisters, himself. Now he had a car, or a wreck of a car, but a job and regular meals and a sort-of . . . family.

  He liked Nick and Piper and especially Stefanie, who had moved out of her own house for him. He hadn’t been able to look her in the eye for about a week because of that. But the way she paid attention to Macey—his sister gobbled it up, the need in her eyes painful for Gideon to watch. At least she’d stopped cutting herself.

  He’d followed her out to the stable a couple nights back to have that conversation. Macey had been feeding one of the horses, and he’d seen then, for the first time, how much she resembled their mother. The way Macey stroked the horse’s blaze, spoke in soft tones, Gideon heard his mother and the way she’d told him everything would be okay. The way she’d tried to calm his fears.

  He’d stood in the shadows, watching, feeling about ten years old, until Macey heard him. And then he’d poured all his fraying emotions into picking a fight with her, forcing her to show him her arms.

  After Macey had left in a huff, he’d sat in the silence, listening to the horses eat, smelling the hay, the layer of animal sweat, and wished he could live here at the Silver Buckle forever.

  He’d do just about anything to stay.

  Even if Libby never came back, even if he’d scared her away—and that thought burned inside him because of how much he missed her—he wanted to stay at the Buckle more than breathing.

  “I don’t believe in fate,” Libby had said.

  As Gideon got up to throw away his sandwich and soda bottle, he didn’t want to either.

  He wanted to believe that someone out there cared about him.

  Enough to give him—them all—a home.

  CHAPTER 12

  “I KNOW THAT LOOK.” Piper stood in the kitchen, cutting the crusts off a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “I wore it right after the roundup with Nick when I knew I’d lost my heart forever.”

  “I haven’t lost my heart,” Stefanie said, draping her coat over a kitchen chair. She opened the refrigerator and grabbed the juice carton.

  “Let’s see, this is week number two that you’ve gone over there? I hope he’s paying you for all your expertise.”

  Stefanie must have worn a look of horror because Piper burst into laughter. “Okay, now I really need to know what you’re doing over at Lincoln Cash’s place, because with a look like—” Her mouth opened. “You kissed him!”

  Stefanie poured herself a glass of juice and put the container back, then took a drink.

  “You kissed him!” Piper grabbed Stefanie’s arm and pulled her toward the dining room. The sun strode in across the giant oak table, through the faux tulip centerpiece. “You kissed Lincoln Cash?”

  Stefanie ran her finger around the lip of the glass, a smile building. Yeah, she’d kissed him. And now she couldn’t get the feel of his strong arms around her, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his kiss from her mind. She nodded and glanced at Piper.

  Piper’s mouth opened a long time before words emerged. “What was it like?”

  “Piper!”

  “Hey! I don’t have to read it in the tabloids—I get the firsthand account. I want details.”

  “No. You’re terrible.”

  “He’s a good kisser, isn’t he? Did you hear movie music? Was there swooning?”

  Stefanie made a face. “Oh, come on. Yes, an entire orchestra broke into a sweeping soundtrack.” Although . . . if she thought hard, maybe there had been music. . . . “I’m not talking about this.” She cleared her throat, keeping a straight face. “Let’s just say that I now believe every movie kiss he’s ever given. And am insanely jealous of all his previous leading ladies.”

  “So, are you his current leading lady?” Piper leaned one shoulder against the wall.

  Lincoln Cash’s leading lady? Stefanie took a breath as those words sank in. She wasn’t . . . hadn’t thought . . . oh, boy. Her smile faded. “I don’t know. We’re . . .” They couldn’t be just neighbors or just friends either, because . . . well, she didn’t kiss her friends.

  Piper raised one blonde eyebrow, waiting.

  “He’s just . . . I mean . . . I don’t know.”

  Piper put a hand on Stefanie’s arm. “Listen, I know you well enough to know that this is a big deal in your life. However, I’m not sure I can say the same for Lincoln. Are you sure you want to be . . . kissing him?”

  Stefanie took another sip of juice. Friday night, and the few days since then that she’d been working with his motley herd of horses, had felt a little like a fairy tale—a sappy love story from the Lifetime channel.

  She remembered how Lincoln had watched her yesterday as she worked with a little foal to take a halter.

  “When did you learn how to work with horses?” he’d asked. He sat on the top rail of the fence, looking every inch like a movie poster, with his shaggy hair blowing in the wind, wearing a T-shirt under a jean jacket with a pair of faded jeans and boots.
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  Thankfully, she’d been back in her regular skin, wearing a brown cowboy hat, her long hair tied in a low ponytail that ran down her back. Her canvas jacket and jeans were covered with a fine film of dust, and she hadn’t bothered to put on makeup.

  She wasn’t sure she wouldn’t get a bacterial infection from the dried-up mascara she’d used Friday night anyway. What was the shelf life on makeup?

  She’d kept her gaze on the animal, moving the halter over his face. “When I was about twelve.” She put her hand over the horse’s face, rubbing as she brought the halter slowly over his nose. “I saw a horse in a field not far from school. He was horribly neglected and starving, and I knew I had to buy him. So I saved up my chore money and rescued him from the owners.” She moved the halter deftly behind the foal’s ears, letting the animal bounce his head, all the time keeping her voice soft.

  “His name was Sunny,” she’d said, aware that the words came out less painfully than she’d thought they would. She stepped close to the foal, running her hands over him, not looking at Lincoln as she took a breath. “He died a few months ago from a flu he picked up. We think it was from the quarter horses I rescued. I didn’t know, and by the time we discovered it, I couldn’t save him.”

  There was more, of course. The guilt of knowing that she might have saved him if she’d taken better precautions.

  She’d snuck a glance at Lincoln.

  He was staring at her with compassion on his face, as if everything inside him wanted to come over to her, take her in his arms.

  For a second, she longed for it too.

  “I’m sorry,” he said instead, and his tone was enough.

  She blinked away the wetness in her eyes. “It’s probably not healthy to have a horse as a best friend.” She moved away from the foal, holding the lead. “There’s only one doing the talking.”

  Lincoln’s voice was gentle. “I could listen to you talk all day, Horse Girl.”

  She hated to admit how much she liked it when he called her a nickname. But her face gave her away.

  “So, what did you and Sunny talk about?”

  As she’d predicted, the foal had begun to pull on the lead. Stefanie picked up a long stick onto which she’d tied a white handkerchief. She now held the foal’s lead and gently ran the handkerchief over his body, then tickled his back end. The foal moved his hindquarters, causing the pressure to lessen on his lead.

  Immediately she dropped the rope and scratched his forehead, cooing sweetly. A little kindness went a long way with the foal and apparently with her, too, because she heard herself talking before she could rein in her mouth. “Mostly I talked about my mom and then my brothers and finally my father. My world wasn’t very big at the time.”

  “Rafe told me your dad died a few years ago. He never mentioned your mom.”

  Stefanie repeated the technique, and the foal responded again. She dropped the lead and rubbed his forehead. “She died when Rafe and I were thirteen. Breast cancer.” She didn’t look at him, leaning into the animal. “She fought for about three years before it took her.”

  A fence creaked in the silence that followed. The wind snatched a tumbleweed and threw it into the corral.

  Lincoln had slid off the fence and slowly walked over to her. She appreciated his efforts not to scare the foal. He reached out and pulled her to him, not unlike she’d done for him. He tipped her hat off her head, letting it dangle down her back by its strings, and his lips moved against her hair. “I’m so sorry, Stef.”

  Lifetime movie indeed. She had probably fallen for him right then, just like the foal that followed her around the pen.

  But eventually reality would move in, wouldn’t it? Despite his words, she didn’t really believe that Lincoln would stick around, and she’d all but given him her heart to stomp on. Not only that, he was an actor, an award-winning actor. He knew how to woo a woman’s brain—and heart—into knots.

  She might be the most gullible person on the planet.

  “Hey,” Piper said softly, bringing Stefanie back to the present and breakfast and reality. “I’m not saying Lincoln’s not a keeper. I’m just . . . I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Yeah. Her either. Lincoln Cash’s leading lady. Oh, brother. Maybe going over to his ranch again today was an exceptionally bad idea. She nodded to Piper and returned to the kitchen, putting the glass in the sink.

  Macey had already gone outside. Stefanie saw her through the kitchen window, standing at the corral, watching the horses they’d been working with. She wore some of Stefanie’s old clothes and had her foot up on one rail, her chin braced on her hands, leaning on another rail. The pose reminded Stefanie of many she’d struck as she had watched the horses, either learning their behavior or lost in a world of her own making, one that had her mother’s voice, her mother’s smile.

  The memory drove her outside and into the yard. “Hey, Mace,” she said.

  Macey gave the barest hint of a smile. Stefanie noticed she’d wiped all the makeup from her face. Probably ran out of black liner. But without it, Macey looked fifteen and surprisingly innocent.

  “Did you notice how Orlando’s inside ear is locked toward me?” she said.

  Not only had Macey named the horses—Stefanie assumed after her favorite actors—but she’d begun to work on getting them to join up, to overcome their natural flight tendency and see Macey as their friend. The reward of watching the horses follow Macey around the pen, waiting for her response—a scratch on the forehead—made Stefanie’s heart do a little dance every time.

  Please, God, let Macey see that she’s lovable.

  “That’s because he knows you’re here. Talk to him and see what he does.”

  Macey spoke softly, calling him, and sure enough—Stefanie wanted to hug the beautiful buckskin for his response—Orlando turned and looked at her.

  Macey climbed up to the top rung and leaned over, holding an alfalfa treat. Orlando trotted over and licked it from her hand. She petted his forehead. “I think he likes me.”

  “He loves you. He knows you’re his friend, and he’s your friend for life.”

  Stefanie saw Macey’s face harden, as if she might be fighting tears. She climbed up beside the teen and gently put her arm around her. To her surprise, Macey didn’t shrug it away. “You know, God loves you too, Macey. He made this horse just for you to know that. He loves you, and He’s not going to forget about you, just like you’re not going to forget about Orlando.”

  Macey looked away, pain on her face. “I don’t want to leave here.”

  Stefanie’s throat burned. “I don’t want you to either.”

  Macey sighed and stuck her hand in her jacket for another treat. “Gideon said that one of the guys at Lincoln Cash’s place was saying the town wants to get rid of us. That the people met and they were going to send the pastor out to tell Lincoln to fire Gideon.”

  “Who would want—?”

  “Everyone hates us. Even Libby won’t talk to Gideon anymore.”

  Well, that explained a lot about Gideon’s recent sullenness. “The pastor isn’t going to tell Lincoln to fire Gideon. And maybe Libby’s just been busy—”

  “Gideon really liked her!”

  “No one wants you to leave,” Stefanie said.

  “Lincoln Cash does. He didn’t want us here, remember?” Macey’s eyes filled, and despite her hard-jawed efforts to stop them, tears rolled down her cheeks. “He even tried to give Gideon money to make us leave.”

  “He didn’t know what he was saying.” Lincoln had made such an about-face in his actions, it had nearly knocked Stefanie over. He wouldn’t be getting close to her in hopes of talking her into getting rid of—?

  “Clancy!” Macey hopped off the fence.

  Stefanie spun, watching as the girl ran across the yard to where Clancy had fallen. The animal heaved, but Stefanie could see that nothing but bile emerged from his dripping jowls. She ran over to him.

  Macey knelt before him, her hand on his body. “Wha
t’s wrong?”

  Stefanie bent over the dog, checking his eyes. Piper came out on the porch. “Call Dutch or Nick!” Stefanie said, feeling for Clancy’s pulse. Thready and weak, the pulse accompanied the dog’s labored breathing.

  Clancy stared up at Stefanie, his glassy brown eyes pleading for her to help.

  “Help me get him in the truck,” she said to Macey. “Hurry.”

  Deep inside, Lincoln knew he should have expected a visit from the pastor. Not only had he run out on Pastor Pike’s sermon—a reason for any pastor to come a-callin’—but Lincoln probably needed a visit from the representative of divine holiness. As a man who’d played fast and loose with God’s laws for over a decade, Lincoln knew he shouldn’t be having the thoughts about Stefanie Noble he was having.

  He couldn’t believe she’d kissed him. Not that he hadn’t been thinking—or hoping—that he might get his arms around her last Friday night, but after he’d told her about his sins, the last thing he’d expected was her arms around him.

  He shouldn’t have been surprised. Everything about Stefanie spoke of giving and patience and acceptance, from the way she embraced three runaway kids and the gentleness she had with his broken animals to the way she looked at him and the smile she had in her dark, pretty eyes. That little smile produced a feeling inside him he couldn’t quite name.

  Fear, perhaps? Stefanie now knew him better than any other woman anywhere. In fact, she knew enough about him to really hurt him.

  But it wasn’t exactly fear. . . . For the first time in . . . well, he knew he’d never felt this kind of alive before. A sort of energy infused with hope, perhaps.

  Until, of course, the local clergyman came knocking. Now he just felt dread.

  “Mr. Cash?” Pastor Pike stood at the door, lean despite the paunch and stern in a pair of black cowboy boots, pressed dark jeans, a button-front dress shirt, and a long wool jacket. He reminded Lincoln of an Old West sheriff—all he lacked was a six-gun. “Can I come in?”

  Lincoln held open the door, wondering if Pastor Pike could sense the fact that Lincoln had held Stefanie in a lingering clinch right here in the foyer only a few days ago before sending her out the door with a container of leftovers Karen had packed up for the kids.