Finding Stefanie (22 page)

“Is that how you were nearly killed in your last movie?”

The look he gave her was immediately shrouded with something unfamiliar and scary. “How did you know about that?”

Stefanie felt a blush press her face and didn’t answer, making a note to self to dispose of any magazines before she invited him to the Silver Buckle. Apparently her brain had already invited him inside her life. She fingered the edge of the blanket. “I have a confession to make.”

Lincoln looked downright magnificent today in a cream-colored shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a pair of faded jeans and boots. He even wore a cowboy hat over all that blond hair. It seemed a crime for a man to be that handsome. What kind of fairy tale had she landed in?

“Yes?” he asked, kneeling on the blanket and opening the basket.

“I’ve seen only one Lincoln Cash movie.”

“Only one?” He wore the strangest smile, one side quirked up, as if this amused him.

“We don’t have any movie theaters around here, so . . .”

He laughed, taking out a cellophane-wrapped sub sandwich. “What kind of movies do you like?”

She shrugged. “Romance. Chick flicks.”

He handed her a sandwich. “I’ve never been in a chick flick. I tend to do movies that are pure adrenaline. Which means that once you’ve seen one Lincoln Cash movie, you’ve seen them all. There’re bad guys and lots of explosions, and I always manage to save the girl.”

“There’s nothing wrong with saving the girl.” She smiled. “Besides, I’m sure your movies are great. Maybe you can loan me a DVD. Or better yet, we could try out your new media room.”

His smile fell as he pulled out two cans of Diet Coke. “Remember, I don’t watch my own movies.”

Until now, she hadn’t been sure if he had been kidding or not. “Really? I don’t understand why not.”

Lincoln made a face as if he’d eaten something sour. “I know too much about them to . . . I just don’t like it.”

“That’s crazy. All your hard work and you don’t watch them?”

“Nope.” He held his soda as if contemplating opening it, then put it down and sat beside her.

She opened hers. “Then here’s to us watching one together.”

He didn’t smile but simply leaned over and kissed her. “Maybe.”

Stefanie opened her sandwich. “Karen made these?”

“Yep. I let her have the day off.”

“You’re lucky that someone would move all the way here from LA to cook for you.”

He took a bite of his sandwich. “I found her here—or at least my assistant did. She just showed up looking for a job. I figured she was a local.”

“Never seen her before. But I’m sure word leaked that the legendary Lincoln Cash needed help.”

Lincoln didn’t smile at this, as if she’d somehow hurt him.

“How’s Alyssa?”

Lincoln hadn’t said anything about his young former neighbor since the night he told Stefanie about the accident, and now the way his head came up and a pained look entered his eyes, she wished—or almost wished—that she hadn’t mentioned it.

Finally he sighed and nodded. “Better, I guess. Only, I think the medicine has made her a bit catatonic.” He shook his head. “I should go see her, but . . .” He looked out toward the horizon. “I’m not that strong.”

“You’re one of the strongest guys I know,” Stefanie said, realizing that she meant it. And she knew strong men. Her brother Rafe rode bulls for a living, and Nick, like their father, had
bullheaded
written all over him, from his backbone to his attitude. But Lincoln was strong in a different but just as important way—in his determination and his kindness toward Gideon and the horses and in his thoughtfulness and even his dreams for his ranch.

Lincoln sighed. “Actually . . . there’s probably something you should know about me.”

“It’s about church, isn’t it?”

He looked at her, confusion streaking through his eyes.

“When you walked out.” His broken expression had been bothering her since that day.

He pursed his lips. “You know, in case you were wondering, I do consider myself a Christian. I went to church when I was a kid. I even got baptized. Maybe I’ve strayed now and then over the years, but I’ve always tried to do good things. Doesn’t that count?”

Stefanie’s mind traced back to Nick’s words. She didn’t mean to make him feel uncomfortable. . . . Well, maybe she did. “It looked like you had something between you and God . . . and if you want, I’ll listen.”

He considered her a moment. Then he put down his sandwich and wiped his hands, his mouth. “Okay, here’s the deal. I asked God for something a long, long time ago.” He picked up his unopened soda can. “And He didn’t answer.”

“And you haven’t asked Him for anything since.”

Lincoln tapped the soda on the blanket. “That pastor’s sermon, about God disciplining us like He would a son, it just . . . I don’t want to talk about it.”

Stefanie saw him then, a kid like he’d described, afraid and thin and knocked around by his stepfather, and everything inside her ached. Didn’t men know that the way they treated their sons and daughters forever imprinted on them a picture of God, good or bad? It made her profoundly glad to have grown up with a father who loved God and lived it out as best he could.

“Besides, you can only ask God for something so many times before you realize He’s not going to give it.”

“So you quit asking.”

He shrugged.

But she recognized the look. She’d been asking God for something for nearly six years. First, forgiveness. Then, peace. And most recently, contentment.

She touched Lincoln’s hand. “I’ll tell you what. How about I ask for you, and you ask for me?”

Lincoln stared at her, a smile inching up his face. “And what do you want from God, Stefanie Noble?”

What did she want from God? It felt like a question she didn’t deserve to answer, didn’t know how to answer. She had so much—a family, a home, land that spoke to her soul. She had her horses and now the North kids, whom she loved more and more every day. She didn’t need more, right?

Him
. She wanted him. But she wanted a Lincoln who wanted her just as much. And she wanted a Lincoln who was free of the secrets that hid in the back of his eyes, the ones he thought she didn’t notice. But she couldn’t say that out loud, could she?

“I want something in my life that is more than cattle and land. I want something meaningful and lasting.”

He reached over, wound his fingers through her hair. “Like giving Gideon and his family a home?”

Now how did he know that? The fact that he’d guessed made her wonder just how easily he read her. “A few years ago, I even tried opening a dude ranch, but it didn’t work. And last year, Rafe was going to do this fund-raising thing on our ranch. But ever since the North kids arrived, I’ve seen the ranch in a new way. Maybe . . . Nick would never go for it, but when I was little, I used to dream of opening a ranch for kids—foster kids or maybe disabled kids. Kids who needed the healing that being around horses and the outdoors brings. Sort of a horse whisperer for kids, maybe.”

Lincoln was looking at her in a way that made her body feel as if it might be giving off a glow. “I’ve loved that idea ever since you mentioned it.”

Stefanie could barely swallow, and she looked away. He remembered that?

He put his hand on her cheek. “You should do it.”

Oh, brother, now real tears filled her eyes. She wiped them with her hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so gooey about this.”

Lincoln thumbed away a tear. “I could completely see you being a mom to a bunch of kids, foster or otherwise. You’re so patient and giving, and you believe in people.”

“I didn’t believe in you. I thought you were selfish. And a jerk.”

He made a wry face. “Except for that glaring mistake, yes.”

“I’ve decided that you are a nice guy, by the way.”

“Oh,” he said, lifting her chin, his mouth close to hers. “I’m glad you finally caught on.”

He leaned down to kiss her, but suddenly, well . . . “Linc, you need to know that . . . I’m not . . . I’m not going to . . . you know.”

“Huh?”

He was already on the way to stealing her heart—after all, there it was lying right on the checkerboard blanket they were sitting on, ready for him to scoop up—but she couldn’t let him walk away with it without knowing the ground rules.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Lincoln stared at her, as if she might be speaking Swahili.

“I’m not the kind of girl you normally . . . date, okay? You need to know that.”

“Know . . . what?”

“Listen, I’m not . . . going to do the things that you might normally expect. . . .”

Lincoln stilled, his smile falling, his forehead creasing to a frown.

Stefanie felt an arrow to her gut. Why did he look so confused? “It’s just . . . I know that maybe you’re used to . . . you know. And it’s not like I’m a prude or anything, but I’ve made some mistakes, and I’m not going to go down that road again.”

“Oh?”

It might possibly be that her lungs had simply stopped working. She felt like a fish, gasping for air. But she wanted more from their relationship than whatever Lincoln was used to having.

“I don’t know what you think—”

“You just need to know that I’ve got standards. Rules. Beliefs—”

“Stop.” In his tone was something sharp and even hurt. “I can’t believe you’d even think that I’d expect—”

“You’re a movie star, aren’t you?”

“Oh, that’s kind.” Lincoln backed away from her.

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that people expect—”

“Promiscuity from movie stars?”

Stefanie met his eyes, finding not humor but the strangest hue of frustration. “You sound like an old-time preacher.”

“I told you I went to church when I was a kid.” Something stirred in his eyes. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d . . . What kind of morals do you think I have?”

She wasn’t sure where to begin to answer him, but a burning had started in her gut.

Lincoln held up his hand. “Don’t answer that.” He sighed, shook his head, and looked away. “I came here to Montana to leave all that behind. I kind of thought I could, with you.”

Oh.

Stefanie reached out to him.

But he moved away from her. “Maybe I should take you home.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that the last guy I dated, well, he wasn’t like you. He . . . had expectations.” She felt a burn on her face, the shame of her past roiling through her. “Expectations I wish I hadn’t given in to.”

Now
she wanted to go home.

“I’m sorry.”

He took her hand and held it in the silence as the trees collected the breeze, a hawk circled in the sky.

“I was in college. Freshman year. I fell hard for the campus hotshot, a guy named Doug Carlisle. Ironically, he’s on television now, in cheesy car dealership commercials.” Stefanie desperately needed Lincoln to laugh. Just to get the air flowing between them again.

“See, I knew it. You’re a groupie at heart.”

She hit him in the chest but took a full breath.

“Careful, Slugger, you have a wicked punch,” he said.

“I wasn’t a groupie. But I did think he loved me.”

All the teasing vanished from his face. “He didn’t.” It wasn’t a question, more of a groan.

Stefanie shivered against the memory of the party after the football game, the cold seat of the car against her back, the icy shame that entered her heart.

“We dated for three months. I was hopelessly in love with him, but he didn’t share my feelings. He made reservations for dinner at an expensive hotel. Or at least I thought they were for us. I saw it in his planner, and I assumed—well, I was naive and thought he might be proposing or something. I even bought . . .” She hung her head, but Lincoln’s hand cupped her chin, lifting it. “A dress. A golden dress—it was beautiful.” She wrinkled her nose. “You know I’m not a dress girl.”

“I completely disagree.” He ran his finger down the tip of her nose.

Stefanie closed her eyes, fighting a new kind of emotion. “I waited for him to pick me up. I actually called the hotel to confirm, and yes, he was there. I grabbed my own taxi, thinking that I was supposed to meet him there, thinking it was my fault.” She didn’t want to see what she remembered behind her closed eyes, but now, suddenly, Doug’s betrayal didn’t feel as sharp, and her shame didn’t close in on her like a fist. “He
had
made plans. . . . Except not for us. Or rather, not with me.”

Lincoln’s thumb trailed down her cheekbone.

She opened her eyes, and to her surprise, he looked wounded.
Please don’t let him be acting.

Something terrible ranged over his face. “Guys can really be jerks.” The sorrow in his eyes tightened her throat. “On behalf of all men who have been jerks to you, I apologize.”

“Oh, Linc—”

“Let me finish.” He swallowed. “I have this incredibly sick feeling that I’ve behaved like Doug Carlisle in my life, and I want to tell you that I’m sorry. More sorry than you can ever imagine.” He turned away as if to gather his emotions.

It hit her then—full-on, like the hooves of a horse but without the bruising, the tearing of cartilage, the breaking of bones—that she could love Lincoln Cash. Really love him, with the kind of love that believed in him and wanted to know him, his dark sides and his joys, his fears and his triumphs. She could love him for his transparency and despite his arrogance, for his gentleness and his strength. She already loved him for the fact that he couldn’t watch his own movies and that he took care of Alyssa. And because he’d given her a puppy named Bill.

Mostly because when she was with him, the look in his eyes made her feel beautiful and strong.

Whole.

And wasn’t that some sort of miracle? Maybe it wasn’t her actions that made her empty but her anger. Her shame.

Her unforgiveness.

Lincoln took her hands in his, ran his thumbs over the tops, saying nothing. As if waiting for her response.

Waiting for her forgiveness. Not that he needed it, but Doug did. Or rather, she needed to give it. Perhaps forgiveness was the first step to ripping the bitter root from her heart.

“I forgive you, Linc, on behalf of all the girls you’ve hurt.”