Finding Stefanie (11 page)

“Libby—”

“Please, Gideon. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess. Can you lock the back door when you leave?”

He nodded. But she felt his eyes on her as she got her coat, put it over her wet clothes, and closed the door behind her.

As she stood there in the cold, her heart still thundering in her chest, calling herself an idiot, swirling all the crazy feelings inside into a hard ball of shame, she noticed a truck parked in the street, a figure sitting inside.

It sped away just as she stepped into the alley.

All Lincoln had wanted to do was protect her. To keep Stefanie from making a mistake that could hurt her in more ways than she could ever imagine. And the fact that he’d tried to send Gideon
off with a pocketful of cash should have been a good thing, should have counted for something.

But as Lincoln had watched his great plans disintegrate in the heat of Stefanie Noble’s anger, he’d actually been conjuring up old movie lines, trying to figure out which one might turn the moment from agonizing to charming.

“Frankly, my dear . . .”
No, that wouldn’t work.

“As you wish . . .”
Too over-the-top.

And then she’d zinged him with,
“How do you know who the real Stefanie Noble is?”
Her question hit way too close to his own issues and irked him, even a week later. No, he didn’t know her. Not really. He could correctly tag her as intelligent and strong and maybe a bit naive, the twin sister of his tough-as-grit friend Rafe, but beyond that . . . no. Lincoln didn’t know her.

But he wanted to. Before, she’d been a curiosity. Now Stefanie Noble had become a challenge. He hadn’t had someone so vehemently dislike him in years.

She’d actually called him a despot looking for a kingdom at the recent Phillips town meeting, where he’d floated his idea along with his grant program and his desire to help put Phillips on the map.

He’d never been a pariah before. Thankfully, Stefanie’s protests had fallen on deaf ears, but the icy look she’d given him two days ago as she entered the diner still made him want to grab a wool jacket and a scarf.

And to make matters worse, he hadn’t the faintest idea how to get back on her good side. Or at least convince her that he wasn’t evil incarnate. Sitting outside Lolly’s Diner watching Gideon leave, somehow he knew that kid held the key.

Lincoln had watched as the lights went off in the diner earlier—in
fact, he’d been hanging around all week, somehow drawn here, a gut feeling inside compelling him to remind Gideon, if only by his presence, to toe the line.

Also, Lincoln simply couldn’t shake the mental snapshot of the little girl at the fire, looking at Gideon as if he might be her only hold on life. She reminded him so much of Alyssa that it had taken his breath away.

Hence the parking space outside Lolly’s.

He watched as Gideon locked the door and pulled his sweatshirt hood up over his head. He ran out to the ancient Impala and got in. Lincoln saw the taillights flicker on, heard the engine fight for life. As Gideon pulled away, Lincoln put his own truck into gear. He normally didn’t follow the kid home, but something inside him told him to trail Gideon, at least until he reached the Big K.

Lincoln didn’t know what else to call his new ranch. He’d thrown out character names of heroes he’d played—Redford had used up that option—and anything with the name Cash felt arrogant, especially after his go-round with Stefanie. At the time he’d picked it, the name had made him feel strong. Important. Now it seemed to mock him.

He kept far enough behind Gideon that the Impala’s taillights vanished behind dips and curves in the road. Overhead, a cloudy sky obscured the stars, making the night inky and dangerous.

Lincoln tested his hand. The feeling had returned slowly, and his gait held no limp—signs that this exacerbation might be healing. But he lived each day in a sort of what-if mode, not wanting to push too far, get his hopes up. Where would he be if he didn’t have the disease pushing against his dreams, hovering over his future?

He refused to let those thoughts dig into him.

He’d inadvertently caught up to Gideon. Or . . . no. The Impala
wasn’t moving. On the side of the road, it looked as if it had simply died and coasted into the ditch.

Gideon stood over the car, the hood open, staring at the engine as if he might have night vision and be able to decipher the tangle of greasy hoses and wires.

Lincoln slowed, drove by, and stopped in front of the Impala. He dug a flashlight from the glove box and opened his door. “Hey there,” he said, keeping his voice friendly.

He didn’t exactly expect Gideon to break into cheers, but the look of mistrust that filled his eyes as he put his hand up to shield himself from the light speared Lincoln through the heart. Maybe Stefanie had been right in her abysmal opinion of him. He lowered the light but not before he noticed Gideon’s wet hair and the fact that he shivered. What, did he shower at the diner?

“What happened?”

Gideon regarded Lincoln as he came over to stand by the car. “What do you want?”

Lincoln wasn’t sure why he’d stopped, but he suddenly wanted to make amends for the way he’d treated the kid. According to his own observation of the teenager, he was a hard worker, kept his head down, and tried to be polite to the people around him. Lincoln had heard him treat Missy and Libby with respect and noted that the couple of nights Gideon had locked up with Libby, he’d waited on the street until she got into her car and drove away.

As if he might be watching over her.

It had nudged Lincoln’s stereotype of thug off its footing. Which was why he turned to Gideon now and injected kindness into his voice. “Nothing. I saw your car, and . . . well, I thought I could help.” Lincoln flashed his light over the engine. He didn’t
know a distributor cap from a spark plug, but he gave a good show of it.

Gideon’s expression lost its hard edge, just for a moment. “I think it’s the carburetor, but I don’t know. It’s too dark. I have to look at it in the light.”

Lincoln nodded, as though it might be exactly that. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Kid, listen. I came down too hard on you last week. I’m sorry.”

Gideon didn’t meet Lincoln’s eyes, but Lincoln saw his defenses kick down a notch. “Uh, yeah . . . well . . . I’m sorry about your house, Mr. Cash.”

“Can I give you a lift home?”

Gideon gave one last forlorn look at the car before he reached up and closed the hood. “Better than walking, I guess.”

The Ford still bore the new truck smell, and Gideon noticed. “Nice ride.”

“Thanks. I just got it.”

Gideon ran his hand over the leather bench seat.

“I always wanted a pickup,” Lincoln added for some reason. Instead he’d driven sports cars all his life. Because that’s what Lincoln Cash did. He sat back, turning the heat up. “How’s work at the diner?”

Gideon gave him a quick look. “You’re there every day. You should know.”

“I like the pie.”

“I get the feeling you’re there to make sure I don’t snatch anything from the till.”

Lincoln cut him a look. “Should I be worried?”

“No. Missy’s been real nice to me. I wouldn’t steal from her.”

“And what about Libby? Seems to me you two are becoming friends.”

Gideon turned toward the window.

Lincoln had a strange feeling in his gut. He’d been eighteen once and knew how a pretty girl with a nice smile could get inside a guy’s head. “Gideon?”

“Yeah, she’s nice too. Real nice.”

Lincoln trilled his fingers on the steering wheel, wading through the layers of concern. They passed the Big K in silence. The bright lights of the construction project on the hill lit up the log home as if it might be the president’s digs. He’d hired a small army to construct his house, yet he could hardly believe how quickly they’d cleared a foundation and erected the walls, the roof. They’d also had to dig a septic system, run power and phone from the road, drill a new well, and install a propane tank. He’d learned so much about construction this past week, he could probably play the part of a disgruntled contractor who went after the town council and held them hostage for permits. Thankfully, his little pep talk at the school had impressed the powers that be, and according to his timetable and his contractor, he’d be in the house within the month.

“Nice house,” Gideon said quietly.

Lincoln looked at him. “Yeah, well, I didn’t start out like this. It took years of hard work.” He didn’t know why he said that or why he suddenly had the urge to tell Gideon more, that he’d been more like Gideon than he cared to admit—desperate and on the run.

“Someday I’m going to have a house,” Gideon said almost under his breath. “Me and Macey and Haley.”

Lincoln had made the same promise to himself and even to Alyssa long ago.

He’d kept only half that promise.

“My dad used to . . . well, that was a long time ago, but he built houses.” Gideon’s voice turned lean. “Got laid off in the winter, though. Not much building in snow.”

“You want to be a builder like your dad?” Lincoln asked.

Gideon’s posture remained set on slouch. Out of Lincoln’s peripheral vision, he saw Gideon’s jaw tighten. “I don’t want to be anything like him. He was a drunk and a liar. He beat my mom and me, and the happiest day of my life was when they put him away.”

Lincoln blew out a breath, aware of how closely Gideon’s words echoed his own once upon a time. In fact, looking at him, Lincoln suddenly had a picture of himself, thin and desperate but driven. He didn’t have a sister, but he knew what it felt like to bear the burden of taking care of someone else.

He should help the kid. More than just by giving him a lift home. The thought jolted Lincoln but sunk in and made sense. Not only did Gideon deserve a chance, but maybe Stefanie would start to forgive him. He took a breath, dug deep, and kept his voice casual. “How would you like a job on my crew?”

Gideon glanced at him, that mistrust back in his eyes.

“I know you can’t be making much at the diner. And you work all the time. I’ve got a summer of big projects ahead of me, and I could use someone as hardworking as you. I’ll pay you the same money the standard carpenters are earning. What are you making at Lolly’s?”

Gideon mumbled something about minimum wage.

“I’ll triple that.”

He could hear Gideon breathe in, the sound of disbelief and hope. “Why? Why would you do that for me? A week ago you
were throwing money at me to make me leave town. What are you trying to pull?”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But this is legit; I promise. It wasn’t right, what I did, and I’m trying to make up for it.”

Gideon had stopped shivering, and now he looked down at his hands, still wrinkled, probably from the dishwater. “Yeah, okay. I guess that’s a good idea.”

Attaboy, Gideon.

When they reached the Silver Buckle drive, Lincoln pulled in real slow. “You like staying here?”

Every time he saw the Nobles’ ranch, it reminded him of a movie set out of an old Western. The two-story homesteaded log home with the front porch and the assortment of outbuildings had found a way into Lincoln’s daydreams. He wondered what it might be like to carve out a life on the land with his bare hands, powered by sweat and character and determination. . . . The notion lodged deep inside and started to germinate.

“Yeah. Nick and Piper are great. Haley really likes Piper. She’s going to be a mom, so I s’pose she’s figuring out how to do the mom thing with Haley, but she reads to her, and Haley’s got a real kitten now that she drags around. Macey likes working with Stefanie. They’re training some of the new quarter horses they just got. Macey’s been learning how to groom them, and yesterday she was in the corral with one, doing something with a rope.”

“You going to learn to ride?”

Gideon gave a sharp laugh. “Nope. I don’t ride horses.”

Lincoln wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Do you ride?”

“Had to learn how for . . . work.”

“You ride horses in your movies?”

Lincoln glanced over at him. Could it be that this kid hadn’t seen one of his movies? “Yep. And drive cars and boats and once I even jumped from an airplane.”

“That’s bad.”

Lincoln nodded. “You get to do a lot of cool things when you’re an actor.”

“I thought it was just for show. You know, the stuntmen doing all the fighting.”

“Not in my movies,” Lincoln said. And not just because the films were always on tight budgets. Because something inside Lincoln—especially in the early days—compelled him to prove himself, if not to his audience, to himself. Over and over.

Until, apparently, it really
would
kill him.

As if he were reading Lincoln’s mind, Gideon asked, “Did you ever get hurt?”

Lincoln flexed his hand and put it in his lap. “Nearly got killed.”

“That’s twisted.”

Yeah, he’d have to be half-crazy to do the things he watched himself do. “You have no idea.”

“You got horses on your new ranch?”

“I will. Maybe.”

“You should ask Stefanie to train them. She’s really good.”

Lincoln stared at Gideon and felt a smile start deep and spread through him. They stopped in the Silver Buckle yard. “I’ll be out early in the morning, so I’ll swing by and pick you up for work. We’ll figure out a ride after that, okay?”