Reclaiming Nick (18 page)

He lifted his gaze. Her face twitched, and she looked as if she was trying not to cry. “I finally came to my senses, cursed him, and . . . left.”

“You left?”

Nick scanned the land that had once been part of his soul. “I left. I didn’t write. I didn’t call. I hated him and what I thought he’d done to our family. I fell off the end of the earth.”

It took her a moment to respond. “For how long?”

“Until about thirty minutes before you arrived.”

Her mouth opened, and in her expression he felt his own grief. Then, to his frustration, his eyes began to burn. He turned away, losing to the sweep of his emotions. “It took me about two years
to figure out how much I’d hurt everyone. I joined the reserves and finally upped for a four-year stint in the army. I threw away every letter from home—my sister’s, my dad’s. Stefanie finally tracked me down through some college friends at Montana State and left a message for me at my base. She told me that my dad had had a heart attack and asked me to come home.”

“You didn’t.”

He shook his head. “I was still angry and ashamed of myself. I blamed them all for the pain I felt when really I was just furious that I couldn’t make it go away. I hated the person I had been that night. Hated the feeling of being out of control, of letting every evil thought take possession of me. I vowed that I’d never be that way again. The army taught me a lot about self-control, even in the worst of moments, and being a cop helped me see what happened when things went south. But I could never face that night, couldn’t return home to the consequences. And now, because I was a coward, it’s even worse.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My dad would have never fallen for Irene St. John. Yes, she was beautiful, but he loved my mother. Irene was lonely, and a man is entitled to a mistake or two. I know his affair with Irene would have disintegrated in time. But she seduced him—she and Cole had been hanging around the Silver Buckle for years, and I finally saw why. Cole’s father had run off before he was born, and Irene was fixing to get herself hitched . . . to the richest man in Custer County. But she didn’t get a chance to get her claws into him because she collapsed that same night. She died about six weeks later.”

Nick wound a blade of grass around his forefinger. “Cole
used my dad’s guilt to make him leave half our property to him in his will. Dad would have never let Noble land outside the family.”

“Why would Cole force your father to give him your land?”

“He wanted this land since he was a kid. We used to ride fence together, and he’d stare out across our property and say, ‘Someday I’ll own a ranch. Have my own cattle.’ I never dreamed he meant Silver Buckle land.”

“Can you prove this?” Piper asked quietly.

He shook his head. “Not yet. But I will.”

She sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, Nick.”

He met her eyes, saw in them compassion, which gave him the courage to dig deeper, feeling a catharsis somehow in the emptying of the tangle of his emotions. “My sister said that God brought me back here. I don’t know about that, but I do think I’m here for a reason. I grew up learning about faith in God, but I never really applied it. Especially after that night.”

“Maybe she’s right.” Piper’s voice was so soft he barely heard it. “Maybe you’re here to make things right.”

He studied the way the twilight played on her features, her hair tossed by the wind, the slight smile she gave him, assuring him. Somehow being around her made him see himself, this land, with new eyes.

As if he might not be the outlaw, the renegade he’d branded himself for so long.

“It’s taken me ten years to regain the footing I lost that night. Ten years to get a glimpse at the man my father wanted me to be.”

“What kind of man is that?”

“A man who fights for justice. A man who protects his family.”
Nick reached up and took her hand, lacing her fingers with his own. “Can you understand that?”

Piper slid off the boulder to sit beside him in the darkness. Her presence felt warm. And when he found his arm moving around her, as natural as the sun setting behind the far mountains, she leaned into him. “Yeah, Nick, I think I can.”

CHAPTER 12

N
ICK
N
OBLE HAD
to die.

He’d come to the conclusion—somewhat reluctantly, if truth be told—but he couldn’t see it any other way. Nick simply had stirred up too much trouble, caused too much pain. Someone had to stop him.

He flattened himself on the rocky bluff, feeling satisfaction sluice through him that he’d gotten up here behind the herd unnoticed.

He’d be the last person they’d suspect should things go south tonight. Should something rile the herd . . .

He watched as Nick rose, left the woman, and walked back to the camp. The man seemed to carry the weight of a broken spirit in his gait—something he himself knew too well. But unlike Nick, he’d found a way out, a way to put his life back together.

And he wouldn’t let Nick get away with stealing his future from him. The life he deserved.

His thoughts spiraled out and turned dark as he hunkered down in the precious cover of night. If only he hadn’t let her go,
if only he’d fought harder for her . . . then everything would be different.

But just because he’d had a run of hard luck didn’t mean that he couldn’t draw out. And if the dealer was on his side, he’d also win back all that belonged to him—and more.

But first, one way or another, Nick Noble had to die.

“You did a great job tonight. Thank you, Piper.” Stefanie wiped the last of the dishes, stacking the tin plates on the chuck-wagon tailgate.

Piper rinsed her washtub with hot water a final time. “Thank you for your help. I’m pretty sure the boss isn’t supposed to help the chef with cleanup.”

Stefanie wiped her hands, then hung the towel on one of the many hooks along the back of the wagon. “Around here, we all have to pitch in. Besides, I didn’t want to overwhelm you—yet. By the time we have guests, you’ll be an old pro.” She winked.

Piper returned a faltering smile. If Stefanie only knew. Piper felt a little sick. After what Nick revealed tonight, she had enough to smear his reputation from one side of the state to the next. At best, he had a propensity toward snap judgments and blaming others. At worst, a tendency toward violence. She could slant her article toward suspicion over Irene’s death and even the violence against his father and use that to shadow the circumstances of Jenny Butler’s murder.

But Nick had sounded shattered when he’d unraveled his story. His pain had found the unguarded places in her heart, and in that moment their friendship was no longer a game but became something real and alive.

That same something made Piper want to jump into Stefanie’s pickup and head back to the Silver Buckle, pack her bags, and run home. Seeing Nick on the edge of his emotions, as if barely roping them in, vowing to never hurt someone again . . . she believed him.

And that made it even worse. Hadn’t she learned anything from her mother’s horrific experience? Apparently not.

Think of Jimmy. No, think of Russell. Of the nightmares and scars he’d left on her life. She still ran from him in a way, still dodged his blows.

Still cried out in pain.

She—more than anyone—knew better than to get close to a dangerously charming and utterly unpredictable man like Nick Noble.

Piper carried the dirty water out of the ring of campfire light and threw it out. She wished all sins and debris in a person’s life might be as easy to discard.

Stefanie was pouring herself a last cup of coffee when she returned. “Saw you talking to Nick. He doin’ okay?”

Piper considered the woman, saw the tinge of worry on her face. “Yeah. He told me everything.”

Stefanie appeared surprised. “He did?”

“How he’d hurt everyone, how sorry he was.”

Stefanie stared at Piper a long time, wordless. Then finally, “That’s good. He needs to get it out.” She took another sip. “Tomorrow we’ll leave at first light. We need to drive this cattle to the other field, then round up the herd over in the pass. I’ll ask Nick to help you close up the wagon and drive it over.”

“No need to ask,” Nick said, approaching them. He took a cup
and poured coffee for himself. “I’ll be glad to help her.” He glanced at Piper with a soft smile. “Right, George?”

Piper felt something warm and terrifying course through her at the nickname. She put away the last of the utensils, untied her apron, and joined the pair by the fire, sitting next to Stefanie. The campfire sparked into the blackened sky. Stars spilled out in brilliance, an immense canopy that took her breath away. She heard a harmonica in the distance, backdropped by the sounds of restless cattle.

She could get used to this. Get used to the sound of the wind stirring the black spruce, the smells of the open range and the campfire, the taste of beans and biscuits.

Get used to breathing deeply, without worrying about deadlines or depending on duplicity to get a story. She hadn’t realized how tightly coiled she felt most of the time until she came out here and let it go . . . little by little.

“I put up a tent for you,” Stefanie said, gesturing into the darkness toward the neighborhood of green two-man nylon structures. “Inside is a sleeping bag.”

“Thanks,” Piper said, leaning back on her hands to gaze at the sky.

Stefanie got up, brushing off her backside. “I’m headed in.”

“Good night, Stef,” Nick said, catching her hand as she passed by.

Piper saw a tender smile pass between them. Her eyes pricked and she looked away.

“It’s beautiful out tonight,” Nick said, picking up another log and settling it into the fire. “I never get tired of sleeping on the range. I used to dream of being out here, singing to the cows with my own son or cuddling up around a fire with my wife.”

Piper had a feeling that imaginary wife had been Maggy St. John. She said nothing, trying to ignore the abrupt twist of pain inside. So what that he’d once dated Maggy? Clearly whatever had been between them had died. Moreover, it didn’t matter to Piper who Nick pined for, who might someday be the wife that snuggled under his arm before a romantic prairie campfire. Didn’t matter in the least.

She gasped, seeing a star loosen and drop from the sky. “Did you see that?”

“Yep.” Nick chuckled, a low rumble in his throat.

Sitting here quietly with him felt easy. Too easy.

“What made you want to be a chef?”

Nick probably intended the question to be friendly, but Piper winced, feeling a sting. “I . . . ah . . . my mother was a chef. And I like to . . . investigate the . . . flavors of . . . life.” She felt some satisfaction about her version of the truth.

“I like to cook too. I used to help Chet, and when I was a teen, I worked at Lolly’s a total of one day. But most recently, I worked at a café, filling in wherever they needed me. I make great blueberry pancakes.”

“Yum.”

“My sister says you’re a whiz at cooking trout. Funny, you don’t strike me as a girl who likes to fish.”

“You’d be surprised at what I like to do.”

“Really?” A slight smile played on his face. “Like what?”

Suddenly Piper wanted to give him a piece of truth, something genuine and . . . her. “I like to read. And . . . write. I write stories sometimes.”

“Like novels?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t tried a novel since college, but yes,
at one time I thought about writing a novel. Something epic and literary and life-changing. Something that reveals human nature and gives hope.”

“Why hope? I thought all novels were about love.”

“Hardly. But maybe hope is a part of love. Maybe loving someone means that you’re hoping in something better for them. Giving them the encouragement to be more and believing in more for them.”

Nick fell silent, his eyes on her, searching her face, his expression unreadable.

Piper shifted beneath his scrutiny, wondering if she’d given up too much.

“It sounds like a best seller. I think you should write it.”

Piper grinned, tucked her hands between her knees. “Someday.”

“After culinary school, huh?”

She gave a wry, sad laugh. “Yeah.”

The fire crackled and spit, and Nick picked up a poker, stirring the coals. “My sister was right—you probably have enough biscuits for breakfast. Just make some gravy.”

“Gravy?” Piper let the word leak out without thinking.

“I’ll make it if you want,” Nick said. “You’re probably used to a fancier setup, I know.”

His warm gaze meeting hers without guile made her throat thicken. Why had she thought she could pull off this charade? What if Nick and all his words about changing, about fighting for justice and his family, had been spoken from the heart?

What if she was the real outlaw here?

Piper climbed to her feet. She couldn’t look at him, not at the
lazy way he balanced his arms on his knees, his cowboy hat pushed back on his head, revealing that curly black hair. She fought the memory of riding behind him, her hands around his waist, the occasional brush against his sturdy back, and tried to keep his particular aroma of soap and leather and hard work from weaving through her pores.

She needed to leave—now—if she hoped to survive this assignment.

“Turning in?” he asked, rising like a true cowboy gentleman.

Piper managed a nod and stumbled past him toward her tent. Tomorrow. She’d leave tomorrow right before dawn, right after the rest of the hands rode out.

She had enough information to concoct a story . . . even if it wasn’t the right one.

Unzipping her tent, she climbed in, toed off her boots, and left them inside the door. Then she crawled into the sleeping bag, fully clothed, and zipped it up to her chin. Tomorrow she’d be back in civilization, with a chai, the Discovery Channel, and decent cell-phone reception. And soon her demo tape for Wanted: Justice.

She closed her eyes, forcing Nick from her thoughts, and felt tears slide down her cheeks into her ears.

Cole saw the light go on in the barn as CJ banged into the house. He’d heard Maggy and CJ drive in and looked up from the book on his lap. He’d probably read three pages all night, imagining instead the scene at the roundup, Maggy laughing with Nick, a twinkle in her eyes. He well remembered when he used to be able to draw
that smile from her. But he’d always wondered if it was a true smile or simply a resigned one.

“Hey, Dad,” CJ said, coming into the darkened room after pulling off his boots and coat. He plopped onto the sofa. “You missed a great roundup.” His hair was matted to his head and dirt smeared his shirt and chin, but his face glowed. “I even got to practice roping—worked as a header for Miss Noble.”

“Good job, Son.” Cole ached with the words. How he longed to see CJ rope, see him take the reins of the ranch. “Your mom says Dutch has been teaching you some new techniques.”

CJ stood up, demonstrating his words. “And Miss Noble’s brother was there. He told me to angle my rope down and to work on my rhythm. I’m getting better.”

Cole felt as if he’d been sat upon by a bull. “That’s great, CJ,” he managed without sounding like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. “Nick’s got a great technique. He and I won first place in the high school rodeo finals our senior year.”

“He told me. That’s who won the other buckle, right?” He pointed to the framed silver buckle hanging over the sofa.