Reclaiming Nick (33 page)

“Dandy,” Dutch muttered from behind them.

The judge gathered his papers as Nick turned to Maggy. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“This is Noble land. It belongs to the Noble men.” She looped her arm around Cole, beaming at him. “I want to see them working it together.”

“Me too,” Nick said, holding out his hand to Cole.

Cole shook his head and wrapped him in a one-armed embrace.

Maggy turned away, glancing at Dutch.

Nick saw her wipe away moisture under her eyes.

“By the way, Nick, we, ah, have something to tell you. Will you let us take you out for lunch?” Cole asked, releasing him.

“Lunch sounds good. Now that we’re both back on solid food.”

Cole grinned, and Nick followed them out of the courtroom.
They found Stefanie and CJ in the courtyard, throwing pennies into the fountain.

Stefanie raised her eyebrows in silent question. He’d told her of his intent to withdraw the petition on the drive to Sheridan, and she’d responded with a hug and another you’re-my-hero speech. He could get used to that.

“Get everything settled?” she asked.

“Yes,” Nick said.

“Mostly,” Maggy answered. “Would you and Auntie Stefanie like to get some lunch? Daddy and I are going to talk to Uncle Nick.”

Uncle Nick. How he loved the sound of that.

Evidently, by Stefanie’s grin, she had also embraced the auntie moniker. She took CJ’s hand. “I hear a pizza calling our name.” She winked at Maggy.

Nick sensed a conspiracy as Dutch left with them. “What’s going on?”

Maggy’s gaze had lingered on her son, her eyes still misty. Oh no—what if CJ had the same disease Cole had? After Cole’s surgery—and getting a complete medical history from Nick—they’d narrowed his disease to a genetic disorder passed on through Irene—Wilson’s disease—a condition that collected copper in his system, shutting down his organs one by one. A condition Cole’s mother had most likely died from in the form of liver failure.

A condition Nick couldn’t have possibly caused. The relief at that news, along with Cole’s forgiveness, felt overpowering. But now what if CJ—? “What’s wrong with CJ?”

Maggy gave him a sharp look. “Nothing. Why?”

“It’s just . . . you’re scaring me.” He ran a hand behind his neck,
feeling his tension. “He doesn’t have the same condition as his dad, does he?”

“You mean smart but cocky, with a tendency to think he rules the world?”

Nick stared at her, his mouth open. “I don’t think Cole’s that cocky.”

Cole grinned. “Yeah, but you are, pal. Like father, like son.”

Nick chuckled.

But Cole and Maggy didn’t.

After a second, something clicked in Nick’s brain—a realization that fit into place with a whoosh. His breath felt hot, heavy in his chest. He opened his mouth but couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak—son?

“Nick, are you okay?” Maggy grabbed his arm.

He looked at her. Saw again that horrible day when he’d accused Cole and Maggy of . . . of . . . “I would never betray you.” Her words nearly one-two punched him. “I think I need to sit.” His legs turned to rubber as he reached out for the edge of the fountain. He sat hard.

“Do you need to put your head between your knees?” This from Cole, who didn’t sound in the least concerned.

He took in the grin on his brother’s face and felt a sweat break out along his spine. “You’re not . . . I don’t . . . how . . . ?”

Maggy gave him a sad shake of her head. “How do you think?”

“But we only . . . that once . . . oh, Mags, I didn’t know. I’m sorry. . . .” He swallowed as memory shook him. “You tried to tell me in the note, didn’t you?”

Maggy sank down before him. “You got the note?”

Nick raked his hands through his hair, remembering. “I thought you were writing me a Dear John letter. I mean, I’d just seen you arrive with Cole . . . and I was angry. I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash.” He leaned forward. “Yeah, maybe I do need to put my head between my knees.”

He felt Cole’s hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations, man. You’re a dad.”

A dad.

Nick studied his best friend. The man who had raised CJ to be the boy he was . . . the man he would be. The father to his son. “You are too.”

Maggy took Cole’s hand. “For years I thought you were angry. That you didn’t want CJ. But you should be a part of his life, Nick. He’s so much like you in so many ways.”

Nick scrubbed his face and shook his head. “Does CJ know?”

Cole slipped his arm around Maggy. “We thought we’d all tell him together. Both his dads.”

Nick felt a smile fill him, through every cell in his body. Him, a dad. CJ, his son. They had two-thirds of a family.

A family that needed a wife. A mother.

“I have to find Piper.”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “Not the response I expected, but . . . well . . .”

Maggy grinned. “Guess what I picked up today while we were waiting for our hearing?” She reached into her satchel and tugged out a copy of Montana Monthly.

On the cover he recognized a sunrise climbing the eastern horizon. A picture that looked very much like it might have been taken from the Cathedral. “What’s this?”

Maggy leaned over him and flipped the pages until she came to a dog-earred article called “Everyday Heroes.” At the top of the page was the picture of him and Cole, holding their silver-buckle prizes for their championship roping win. “When she called to ask for the picture, I told her I’d get your permission.” Her eyes gleamed. “Whoops.” She released the magazine. “Interesting reading, if I do say so myself.”

“She’s a journalist?”

Maggy lifted a shoulder. “Or a cook. Depends on you, I think.”

“When I said take me with you, I was thinking that I’d end up some place warmer, with an ocean view and excellent coffee, not across town with a view of the railroad.” Carter stood on the stoop of the two-story Victorian, holding his Styrofoam cup close to his face, blowing on it as he shivered. “If you’re going to rope me into volunteering, at least you could give me off-street parking.”

“You’re late.” Piper opened the door wider for him to step inside.

“I had a deadline—I know that means nothing to you now. Traitor.”

Piper grinned. “I’ll give you a parka, the picture of Puget Sound that used to hang over my desk, and a gift card to Montana Coffee Traders if you carry in that box of clothes that just came in.” Piper pushed past him and picked up one of the boxes left on the porch. The smell of cookies baking escaped behind her.

“Oh, Piper, you didn’t—”

“Come inside before we heat the entire city.”

She lugged the box into the family room. Marci and her daughter, Amelia, sat together, watching Scooby Doo. At seventeen, Marci
had the reflexes of a streetwise forty-year-old. Still, sitting with her four-year-old daughter curled in her lap and purposely using her blonde hair to curtain her battered face, her blue eyes glued to the television screen, she looked about thirteen years old.

The sight skewered Piper’s heart anew. So many girls starting life way too early. She sat beside them on the donated, fraying sectional.

“Miss Piper!” Amelia crawled over to her, her blonde ringlets wild around her head. She plunked herself in Piper’s lap without apology. “Can I have a cookie?”

Piper popped a kiss on the little girl’s forehead. “After they cool.” She looked past her at Marci. “You two doing okay today?” Marci’s face had begun to heal, the purple bruise that had swelled half her cheek fading to a greenish yellow. With her arm set, her body had mustered its white cells and begun healing. Her psyche and emotions might take longer. Much longer. But Hope House offered time and a safe haven. Piper wished the shelter had been around when she and her mother had been sleeping in their car, living hand to mouth.

She still couldn’t believe how much her life had changed over the past three months. How God had taken her feeble prayer—no, her feeble moan—and turned it into a fresh start. Who knew that surrendering her time, her writing to God’s work might help her wounds heal? might give her the purpose she’d been searching for her entire life? might make her whole?

“I read your article in Montana Monthly,” Marci said. “It’s a true story?”

Piper nodded, putting Amelia down and opening the box in front of her. Toddler clothes, donated from a local church.

“I can’t believe that guy would ever give his liver to someone he’d hated.”

Piper didn’t look at her. She smoothed a pair of light blue overalls. Her throat felt thick as she drove Nick’s face from her thoughts. Sometimes missing him nearly doubled her over with pain. Other times she found a smile, remembering his teasing. His laughter. The way he’d held her.

Most of the time, however, she only remembered the expression on his face when he’d asked, “Was that Jimmy McPhee?”

Apparently they weren’t going to ride into the sunset together. Not that she’d expected him to chase after her, but his silence only confirmed that some things couldn’t be forgiven.

“He’s pretty hot too.” Marci made a sound of appreciation.

Piper rolled her eyes. She tossed the overalls back into the box. “I need a cookie.” Rising, she saw that Carter had finished lugging the rest of the boxes inside and was shucking off his jacket. “Thanks, Carter.”

His brown eyes twinkled. He hadn’t suffered too much by her recent change in careers. Her absence left a void he easily filled at the Kalispell Gazette. So long, food critic—hello, features editor. The day she’d returned to the Gazette, cleaned out her desk, and hung out her shingle as a freelance writer had been the day her life truly began. And who knew that inside her inquisitive mind she had a storehouse of ideas and stories she could use to raise support for Hope House? Her newsletter and features in the local papers had actually doubled Hope House’s summer revenue.

Most of all, she’d found a way to reach out and find healing. For herself. For other women who still bled. A way to reach out that didn’t endanger her life.

“Want a cookie?” she asked Carter as she headed to the kitchen.

“Are you doing the baking?”

“Oh, ha-ha,” she said, hiding a smile. Just because a girl burned a few biscuits . . . and she was getting better. Much better.

She found Jodie, the housemother, bending over the oven, retrieving another batch of snickerdoodles. The widowed grandmother made them all feel like kids at Christmas with her pampering. Precisely what a group of hurting women needed. Piper snuck behind her and snatched a cooling cookie just as Jodie turned. She made to slap Piper’s hand.

Piper waggled her eyebrows. “I think we should print your recipe in the next newsletter. Mmm.”

“Flattery won’t get you another cookie.” Jodie set the tray on a hot pad and loaded another into the oven.

Piper leaned her hip against the counter. “A few more tries and I might get this figured out.”

“Piper, I’m sure that someday soon you’ll make excellent cookies,” Jodie said. “You’ve got the touch.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” The voice came from the doorway. Slow and drawled out, with a hint of arrogance in the tone.

Piper’s breath caught, and she turned, shock turning her mouth dry.

Nick?

Carter stood behind him, giving her a sly grin.

What—? Her mind reeled, trying to sort fact from fantasy. Sure, she’d dreamed this, but—

“Hi, George.” Nick entered the kitchen, his smile and devastating good looks sucking every thought from her.

She stared at him, mouth agape. Cookie half eaten.

He tipped his hat to Jodie. “Ma’am, can I have a moment, please?”

Jodie glanced from Piper to Nick, then back to Piper. “I’ll be right outside if you need me, honey.” She gave Nick a grandmother glare on her way out.

Piper let herself smirk.

Three months of recuperation had revived Nick’s rugged cowboy looks, and in a leather jacket, a pair of jeans, boots, and his familiar black Stetson—well, she just might swoon.

He swept his hat off, looking suddenly sheepish. “You’re hard to find.”

She wanted to leap at him, to let her feelings and everything inside spill out. But it all came back to her in a whoosh—the deception, the game she’d played, hoping to hurt him. She put her cookie down, her stomach roiling, and wiped her hands on her jeans. “How did you find me?”

He harrumphed. “I was a detective, remember?”

“He called the newspaper,” Carter piped up from the other room.

Piper shook her head. “Apparently I need to pay my sources better.”

Nick lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I called the magazine first. They gave me your old number.”

And she suspected that Carter had answered.

Nick held his hat in his hands and didn’t make another move toward her. Except, of course, for having traveled over three hundred miles to Kalispell.

“What are you doing here?” She didn’t mean for her tone to be so sharp. Nick had never been anything but kind to her. But a good defense is a strong offense, and right now she didn’t know what
else to say to keep her heart from springing right out of her chest and into his arms.

Nick didn’t flinch. Simply fastened his dark eyes on her, probing, paralyzing. “Why did you leave, Piper?”