Reclaiming Nick (22 page)

She no longer tried to dodge the truth—Nick had camped out at the edge of her heart and was fast sneaking his way inside. She felt the fool for how often she listened for his boots, hoping he’d call her George in that deep, husky voice.

To say that she’d fully immersed herself in this alias seemed a bit understated. She was Piper Sullivan, cookie of the Silver Buckle. The thought made her smile.

The screen door whined, and footsteps crossed the planks of the dining hall.

She jumped off the counter as Nick entered.

“I am under your command, O Bread Queen,” he said as he pulled off his hat.

Piper quirked an eyebrow at him.

“The smell. It’s not part of your magical powers?”

She smirked. “As a matter of fact, it is. . . .” Only, what would she command him to do first? The timer dinged before she could finish her thought, and she grabbed a set of pot holders. Nick opened the oven, and Piper nearly cheered at the two light brown loaves of white bread. She took them out of the oven as if they were freshly blown glass.

She set the bread on the counter, then flipped the loaves onto a baking rack to cool. “I think that’s going to turn out.”

He smiled. “Of course it will.”

She tossed the hot pads onto the counter, put her hands on her hips, and stared at her creation, satisfaction full and deep within her. Take that, Carter.

She looked at Nick. He was staring at her with an odd look.

“What?”

He shrugged. “It’s just nice to see you taking such pride in your work. Like it’s a new creation every day. Makes me rethink the simple tasks that seem so mundane.”

Oh. Right. She nodded, unable to contain her emotions. “This is going to work out, Nick.”

He looked at her so sweetly, so oddly delighted, that something burst inside her. She liked the Piper she saw in his eyes—capable, nurturing, even a part of this project to turn the Noble ranch into a getaway for families. A place where she might find a family too.

That thought swept through her, wiping the smile right off her face. She turned away before he saw regret cut through her expression.

“Cookie,” he said shaking his head, “you make anything taste great.”

She did? Wow, did she have him fooled.

“Hey . . . while we wait for the bread to cool . . . you wanna go for a ride?”

She turned back, considering what that might mean in her state of mind. Perhaps some fresh air to cool off the longing that seemed to burn through her. “All right.” She took off her apron as she followed him out of the dining hall.

He ran his hands through his hair just before he put his hat back on. The gesture made her want to do the same—twirl her fingers around his curls.

So maybe Carter had been right. She was falling—just a little—for a cowboy. The sudden memory of being in Nick’s arms broadsided her—his strength, his response to her kiss . . . he hadn’t even hinted at kissing her again, a gesture that, up until now, she’d pegged as
gentlemanly. Now she wondered if she should suggest they ride together, like they had on the first day.

No, bad idea. Instead, “When does the first guest arrive?”

“Next week, after Memorial Day.”

“I’ll be ready,” she said, realizing that she meant it. Pull yourself together, Piper! She gazed out across the range, smelling the wildflowers, the loamy smell of earth and animal. It seemed such a natural, even fragrant part of the ranch.

“I know you will, George. You’re going to be a hit.”

A strange joy engulfed her as they entered the barn.

He saddled a horse for her, then swung up on his own.

The late-afternoon sun warmed her neck as they headed out of the driveway and across the winter pasture. Piper felt comfortable in the saddle, especially with Nick close enough to grab the reins should her horse startle. The squeak of the saddle, the smell of leather, the sound of cattle. It almost felt like a date.

A date. She hadn’t had a date since . . . well, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d let a man near enough to know her. But Nick didn’t really know her, did he? He knew Piper Sullivan, the chef with a Curious George streak. He hadn’t the foggiest idea that she might be an ace—or former ace—reporter with an agenda.

What exactly was that agenda again?

They climbed a rocky bluff littered with limestone and boulders, cut with jack pine and scrub brush. The wind stirred the leaves, and the horses snorted.

“Go easy here,” Nick shouted over his shoulder. “It’s not a hard climb.” He glanced behind him to ensure she followed him.

How sweet, her protector. She smiled at him.

Nick reined in his horse at the top of the hill. Climbing off, he
tethered the animal to a downed log, held Piper’s reins as she dismounted, then tied her horse with his.

“This place is called the Cathedral,” he said, starting up the rocky incline.

She followed him along a dirt path dissecting the rocky hillside. A grove of trees shaded a fire pit flanked by two rough-hewn benches. In every direction, the land rolled out over bluff and wash, covered by a carpet of white yarrow and purple kittentail. The Bighorn Mountains, hazy and magenta on the horizon, rimmed the western view. To the east, only hills and endless blue sky.

“Wow,” Piper said when they entered the clearing. A fresh feeling of awe washed through her, taking with it her breath.

“‘He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west.’” The words emerged from Nick in a mumble.

But she felt them like a warm breath, drawing through her, invading her pores. Nudging something that felt hidden and barren. Her soul perhaps. “What is that?”

“It’s a verse from Psalms. My dad quoted it sometimes when we’d come here. We’d come on the Sundays when we didn’t make it to church. He’d open his Bible, which he almost always carried with him, and read Psalm 103.”

Nick seemed to be back in time, listening to his father, as he quoted: “‘The Lord is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him. For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust.’”

Father . . . compassionate? Piper issued an involuntary harrumph, and she instantly wanted to take it back. The last thing she wanted to do was let Nick close enough to see her scars. To pity her.

Nick obviously heard it, however, because he frowned. “What’s the matter?”

What was the matter? She had one formerly broken bone and a scar on her arm to illustrate what a father’s compassion meant to her. She yanked her shirtsleeves down over her thumbs, crossed her arms over her chest.

“Piper?”

No, Nick . . . Only, her mouth wasn’t listening to the warning sound her brain emitted. “I don’t like thinking about God in terms of father. Not all fathers have compassion on their children.”

As expected, a sick look came over him. She replayed his reaction to her nightmare: “If it wasn’t a nightmare, then it was a memory, and I’m going to kill the person who left you with that.”

Nick also seemed to remember that moment because he said, “Were your nightmares about your dad?”

She didn’t mean to, but she reacted as if he’d hit her. Cringing and turning so he couldn’t see her.

“Oh no.” The softness in his tone made Piper close her eyes. Sometimes he reminded her so much of Jimmy. Jimmy, who hadn’t hesitated when he’d stepped between her and Russell over and over . . . until it had nearly gotten him killed.

She almost jumped from her skin when Nick put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Piper. I . . . shouldn’t have asked.”

She closed her eyes, horrified that she’d let him inside but burning with the sudden need to tell him. To let him care, and, if only for a moment, not face her demons alone.

“My mother always said she shouldn’t have married him. She was young and stupid, and he was a dashing cowboy with devastating
charm. He’d been married before—his wife had died in childbirth, and he needed a mom for his five-year-old son.”

Piper stepped away from Nick, her back stiff, and took a deep breath. “Mom said that he didn’t start hitting her—hitting us—until he broke his leg rodeoing one winter. After that, they fell on hard times, and he started drinking. My earliest memory is hiding under the bed while he tore the trailer apart. He even broke my arm once.”

She felt Nick’s presence beside her, felt the way he held his breath, felt even the anger that radiated from him. She couldn’t look at him. Instead, she faced the breathtaking scenery. “My mother was a Christian. Whenever she prayed, I remember wondering why God, if He loved me or my mother, would let those things happen. I mean, weren’t fathers supposed to protect their children? Instead, Russell . . . well, most of the time, I wished he were dead.”

“Oh, Piper.”

There it was, the pity. She clenched her jaw, despising the tears that welled in her eyes. She hadn’t cried over Russell McPhee for nearly ten years. She wouldn’t start—

“I’d give anything to have been there to protect you,” Nick said softly, almost desperately.

“Don’t say that, Nick.” Her voice sounded distant, and she felt herself starting to crumble. She’d erected a nice, sturdy wall around herself for the better part of a lifetime, and suddenly, in a little over a week, she’d let some man inside to chip it away. Not only that, but he was a man she’d so recently believed was a bully like her father. She wanted to scream or even run.

Run away.

She turned, pushing past him, but he stopped her, grabbing her arm. “Don’t . . . Piper. Don’t leave.”

“Why? I don’t—”

“I ran away. From my anger and from everyone who loved me. And . . . I regret it. I should have stayed, should have never let my grief keep out the people who cared about me.”

She saw the pain on his face and heard herself speaking words that she had rarely spoken even to herself. “My brother . . . tried to protect me, and he nearly got killed.”

Nick’s face darkened.

“When my mother and I escaped, we left him behind.” Tears blurred her eyes, and she swiped at them. “I’ve never been able to . . . to forget him.”

“What happened to him?”

She just about told him. Felt the words in her throat, felt almost as if . . . as if he might forgive her.

Or . . . be furious. She took a breath. “Nothing good.”

She saw sadness on his face, the kind that only made her want to weep more. And that would turn her into a sodden mess. Swell.

He slid his hand down her arm and took her hand. “Piper, my sister said that God brought me back here. I’m thinking she’s right. I’ve been walking around with a ball of fury inside me—first at my dad, then at Cole. I’m wondering . . . well, mostly I’m just tired of feeding that hate.”

Piper knew the feeling. Waking up each morning, dodging the cloud of despair that crowded her.

Nick released her hand and touched her face. “Maybe God did bring me here . . . and I think He brought you here too.”

Piper went still. Nick, you couldn’t be more wrong. But her voice had deserted her.

“‘He redeems me from death and crowns me with love and tender mercies.’”

“What?”

“My dad wrote it in his journal. I read it last night. Made me think of Joseph in the pit after his brothers had attacked and stripped him. In the end, God made him a ruler over a nation to save his people. It’s a lot easier to see God at work in hindsight than when we’re in the pit, with barely a hint of light.”

Piper stepped away from him, rubbing her hands over her arms. “Maybe God isn’t even there in those dark moments. Maybe He doesn’t care.”

“No, Piper, I think God does care. In fact, I think He’s at work even when we’re in over our heads, even when there seems to be no hope.”

Piper said nothing.

He blew out another long breath, sounding of frustration. “I have this overpowering desire to reach back in time and get my hands on the man who left you with such deep wounds.”

His words staggered her. He appeared so wounded, so angry, that for a moment Piper felt as if she might be looking at herself. But when he reached out to take her in his arms, her reflexes moved her away.

Nick’s voice turned ragged. “George, please come here. . . . I don’t know what else to do.”

She studied him a long time; then she felt herself crumple. She hated this place inside her that couldn’t push through her glass walls into his arms. Couldn’t trust, couldn’t love. She covered her mouth with her hands, shook her head.

He took a half step toward her.

Please, Nick. Only she wasn’t sure what she was pleading for.

However, a moment later when he drew her close, she knew the answer. She needed Nick to shatter those walls and let himself into her life. To love her. To protect her. Maybe even to help her find . . . peace.

Because obviously she couldn’t do it herself. Even if suddenly it was the one thing she wanted even more than justice.

“My husband’s dying, and I think you know that.” Maggy sat in the leather chair of Saul Lovell’s office, her hands folded on her lap. “Our doctor told me the basics . . . and Cole confirmed it. I know what’s going on.”

Saul leaned back in his chair, his gaunt face solemn as he regarded her. He probably saw her as everyone else did—the girl who had loved and lost. She often felt branded that way—Nick Noble’s former love. But what they didn’t know was that she’d been the winner. She’d loved . . . and loved again. And having loved Nick only made her realize the precious gift of Cole’s love. She learned what real love felt like, what it looked like, the day she married Cole St. John. He was her real hero, and even now he sought to protect her.