Kitabı oku: «The Rancher's Holiday Hope», sayfa 2

Chapter Two

Sierra found a chair and pulled it where she knew the sounds would be more muffled. In a moment the helicopter would take off.

“Brace yourself,” she whispered. She shuddered at the thought of being dragged into the past by memories that would feel too much like the real thing.

She knew the mechanics of the flashback. The fear would trigger a response in the brain. The images would flash and she would confuse past and present. She would relive the smells, the sounds, the horrors of the accident, of being taken captive, of watching from a distance as her only source of help flew away, unable to locate her.

Coping mechanisms. She needed her coping skills. She held the cup of warm tea, keeping the aromatic blend close to her face.

Cup in hand, she stood, knowing she couldn’t fight this fear cowering in a corner. She marched out the front door of the barn just as the massive helicopter whirred to life, the rotors spinning and the engine winding up to lift the monster vehicle off the ground.

She could see the men inside, the pilot with his headset, the passenger who stared out the glass door, making eye contact with her. From the distance he held her gaze. She remembered the color of his eyes. They were the oddest mixture of moss green, brown and gray. Dark eyes but with a light that reminded her of sunshine filtering through a forest canopy. He had short, curly hair, lean, suntanned features. He knew how to control situations. It came naturally to him. He also knew people. He’d immediately seen the fear in her expression.

She knew people, too. Her job in the army had been human intelligence. The irony had been that she wasn’t particularly good with people. She was a loner by nature. And yet she’d been very good at her job.

The man holding her gaze was not the enemy. As the helicopter circled, he waved. She waved back. She wouldn’t get lost in memories.

As the helicopter cleared the tree line, she began to breathe. She had survived. Making her way to one of the patio sets on the wide stone-tiled front porch, she sat on the wrought-iron chair, and enjoyed the scent and the sounds of country life. The horses grazing in the field, pulling at the drying winter grass. In the distance a tractor moved a big, round bale of hay.

Peace, that’s what she’d found here, in Hope. Peace was what she felt a short time later as she retrieved a cup of tea and returned to the front patio to sit and make notes on future events that would be held at the venue. She had a meeting scheduled for four o’clock. In her current state of mind, she almost hoped they would cancel.

Time slipped away as she worked, sipping on tea that had grown tepid. She glanced up when she heard a truck coming down the gravel road from the main house. It stopped and Isaac West jumped out, shoving his hat down on his head as he did. She turned and headed for the front doors of the building. He followed close behind.

“Why are you here?” she asked as she headed to her office.

He caught up with her. “What? I don’t look like the kind of guy who just shows up.”

“Not generally.”

“I am the kind of guy wo can be here for a friend.”

“Go. Away.” She took a seat behind her desk and picked up a file. “St. James/Barton Wedding” she’d written across the front. Max’s sister.

Melody St. James was twenty-five, had been dating Andrew Barton for five years and had her wedding planned to the last detail. That made Sierra’s life strangely complicated. When a young woman had been dreaming of her special day for years, it was difficult to help her match reality to her fantasy wedding.

It dawned on her then why Isaac had appeared at just the right moment to bother her. “He sent you, didn’t he?”

“He?”

“Max St. James. That’s how you arrived at just the right time. Of all the interfering...”

Isaac cleared his throat. “Did you get off to a bad start with my old friend?”

She ignored the question.

“I don’t need to be checked on. I’m very capable of taking care of myself.”

Isaac kicked back in the chair opposite her and had the nerve to put his booted feet on the corner of the oak desk that happened to be her pride and joy. It was an antique, passed down through generations. Not generations of her family, but a family.

“Get your feet off my desk,” she growled.

He quickly moved his feet to the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked, showing his serious side.

“I’m fine.”

He studied her. “It wasn’t a bad thing he did, caring enough to call and have someone check on you.”

“He doesn’t know me. It was intrusive. I’m not sure why he felt he had a responsibility to call in a welfare check on me.”

Isaac’s expression went from serious to amused and she was thankful. Amused, she could deal with.

“You’re so prickly sometimes.”

“I’m not.” She opened the wedding file. “I’m fine and I have work to do.”

“Right.”

She looked up, seeing the skeptical expression of a man she considered a friend. “I survived it. There, that’s honesty for you. I can admit that it took me by surprise. It’s been at least a year since I’ve had a flashback. But I’m still standing and that’s a win.”

“That’s always a win.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

“I never said you weren’t,” Isaac said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

Sierra sat back in her chair. She rubbed her hands down her face and sat silent for a moment, face buried, trying to think of something that would put his mind at ease. “I heard the helicopter, but I held it together. I was nice to a child. I made sure she was safe.”

“If you were nice to a child, that’s a definite win.”

“You know I’m not fond of them. And this one—” She shuddered. “She’d been outside and she had that outdoor kid smell. You know the one.”

“Yeah, I know.” He leaned back, deceptively relaxed. “You have to let people in, you know. Friends. Family. You can’t always shut down and keep people out of your space.”

“I know that. But I don’t trust easily.”

He arched a brow. “Isn’t that the truth. I’m still not sure if you trust me.”

“I do trust you. I just don’t trust you to stay out of my business.” She smiled.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes and she knew that there was more. Isaac could be intrusive. He knew when to push. He also knew when to give a person space. He was still here, watching her, waiting.

In the silence, she had too much time to think. Her mind kept replaying the moment when Max St. James walked up to her, dark-skinned, curly hair, piercing gaze. She’d been taken aback by his presence, by him. Unfortunately she hadn’t seen the last of him. The file sitting on her desk meant that he would be in her life for the next couple of months as she planned Melody St. James’s wedding.

“Will you be at the holiday dinner this Sunday after church?” Isaac finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Holiday dinner?” She had no idea what he was talking about.

“The Hope Community Church holiday dinner. We have it on the last Sunday in November every year. It’s open to the community, so we serve food all day, because we never have enough room for one big sit-down dinner.”

“And what do you want me to do?” She asked because she knew from his tone that there was more. He wanted her involved. They all did.

“I only want you to join us. We’re all still family.”

Sierra smiled. The residents of Mercy Ranch were more than family. They’d seen each other through some of the roughest times. They kept one another motivated. In the past couple of years, a few of them had gotten married, including Kylie’s marriage to Carson West, Isaac’s brother and the oldest son of Jack West. Jack owned and operated Mercy Ranch. It was his way of giving back to soldiers who had fought and been injured.

“You want me to help, don’t you?” she asked, knowing his real purpose for bringing up the dinner.

He grinned. “Yeah, I want you to help.”

“I’ll help,” she said. She wasn’t excited about it, but it would show them all that she hadn’t closed herself off completely.

“Good.” He lifted his arm to check the time. “About Max...”

“Another interfering male?” she added.

“No, he isn’t. He had a friend, a business associate. Max understands PTSD.”

“Right, but I don’t need him mucking about in my life.”

“Mucking about?”

“Go! I have work to do. Remember, I run this wedding venue for your father. And if you see him, tell him I’m not good at all of this happily-ever-after stuff.”

“I think he’s hoping it’ll rub off on you. I’m starting to think it must be working. A person who says stuff like ‘mucking about’ has obviously been reading some romance novels.”

“I don’t believe in romance.” She hid her face so he wouldn’t see the heat traveling up her cheeks.

“Don’t let Max get under your skin. He’s not much of a romantic, either. Too busy. I keep telling him women like it when a man shows up. Maybe someday he’ll find one he cares enough to show up for.”

“I don’t need to know about Max St. James.” Sierra shot him a look and then picked up the file and walked out of her office. She had a meeting and the last thing she wanted was to have her client’s brother on her mind as they met to discuss wedding details.

Max stood outside the doorway to Sierra Lawson’s office, catching the last few sentences of her conversation with Isaac West. He hadn’t planned on coming back today, but when he’d gotten home, his sister had informed him she had an appointment at the Stable wedding venue and he had to accompany her because, after all, it was his money she was spending.

He definitely hadn’t planned on listening in on a private conversation. But he hadn’t walked away quickly enough and had heard his name mentioned. Both were reasons to stay and listen. Now he had to make another decision: make himself known or walk away.

“Max, did you find her?” Melody’s question made the decision for him.

“That dirty rat.” He heard Sierra gasp, accompanied by Isaac’s deep laugh. “Listening in on private conversations.”

He stepped into her office, trying hard to be his normal composed self. After all, he was Max St. James. He knew how to keep his expression neutral to make the best deal. He didn’t let anything or anyone get under his skin.

So why did he feel like a teenager being called into the principal’s office? He pulled on the brim of the cowboy hat he wore and managed to not shuffle his feet.

“I didn’t hear much, and most of what I did assured me we won’t be best friends.”

“Max!” his sister gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. “I apologize for him,” she said to Sierra. “He isn’t usually this rude.”

“I don’t need you to defend me, Mel,” he told his sister. “I did listen to your conversation. But I didn’t mean to. I apologize. And Isaac’s portrayal of me is wrong. Mostly wrong.”

Sierra glared, her hazel-green eyes dancing with fire. He nearly smiled. Instead he opted for contrite, but, man, it was hard to do.

Sierra glanced from him to Isaac. She didn’t say anything and didn’t really need to. Her expression said it all. She was angry, cornered and...beautiful.

“I have to get home to my wife.” Isaac headed for the door. “Godspeed, my friend.”

“Prayers appreciated,” Max joked. Because he’d known Isaac most of his life, he knew that Isaac would never let him be “Max St. James, Tech Tycoon.” With Isaac, he was just Max, number 32 on the Hope High basketball and baseball teams, a decent partner in team roping and someone most parents warned their kids to steer clear of.

“Men!” Melody snorted as Isaac left. “Now, let’s show my brother the venue. He’s going to love it so much, he’ll want to get married here.”

“Oh, are you engaged, Mr. St. James?” Sierra asked, her wide-eyed expression telling him she knew he wasn’t.

“No and I have no intentions of getting married anytime soon. Let’s have a look at the venue and then we can discuss the plans that have already been made.”

Sierra led them through the building that had been built like an overlarge stable. The main area, longer than it was wide and with a cathedral ceiling, was the wedding chapel. What might have been an indoor arena was the reception area. The entire venue was light and airy. Stained glass in the chapel allowed warm, golden light to seep into the large, open room.

Melody talked in great detail about flowers, decorations, food. He tried to focus but it all sounded like she was speaking a foreign language. He’d never expected this from his sister. She’d always been so rational.

He didn’t want to interfere but he had doubts about the fiancé who hadn’t stepped foot on Oklahoma soil in months. According to Melody, he was busy working in California. Max hoped that was the truth.

“What do you think, Sierra?” Melody had hold of the other woman’s arm and he saw Sierra stiffen. But she smiled, as if trying very hard to accommodate his sister’s affectionate nature. “Heart-shaped filet mignon or salmon. Isn’t that perfect?”

Sierra’s face said she thought the idea was anything but perfect.

He swallowed and looked away but not before she gave him a look that begged for assistance. He shrugged but didn’t reply, leaving her to come up with an answer for his sister.

“I think that sounds costly,” Sierra said. “But of course it’s up to you. You’re the bride.”

“I’m paying for this nonsense,” Max inserted. “Why do we need heart-shaped food?”

Melody rolled her eyes. “It isn’t about need, it’s about want.”

“There would be a lot of wasted food,” Sierra informed Melody. “They would have to cut the meat to make the heart shape.”

“Oh, that is a waste. Okay, nothing heart-shaped except the cakes and cookies for the dessert table. And I’d like to do a traditional dance. My grandmother has been teaching me and she feels very strongly that the dance should be done immediately following the ceremony.”

“Traditional dance?” Sierra looked confused.

“Our grandmother is Assyrian,” Melody said over her shoulder as she hurried toward the stairs that led to the loft where the bridal party lounge and dressing rooms were located. The groom and his attendants had a separate building. “Our grandparents came to America in the sixties. They’re our mother’s parents.”

Following close behind his sister, Max walked next to Sierra, noticing her thoughtful expression.

“Our grandmother—we call her Nonni—is still very traditional in many ways,” Max said.

They had reached the top of the stairs and stopped on the wide landing. Sierra unlocked the double doors and motioned them into the bridal suite, which included a large sitting area and windows offering a brief glimpse of Grand Lake.

“Max, come inside, look around.” Melody took hold of his hand and dragged him in.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the expression on Sierra’s face. For a moment, she looked sad. He wondered why.

“We should go now,” Max told his sister. “I’m sure Ms. Lawson has other clients, other things to do. Not that this hasn’t been extremely fun for her.”

“I’m sorry, Sierra, I should have realized...” Melody hugged the wedding planner again. His sister didn’t notice the other woman freeze up. “I’ve just been so excited to show Max everything. I knew he wouldn’t really appreciate the details, but I knew he’d pretend.”

“I’m glad for your sake that he pretended,” Sierra said, putting some distance between her and his sister.

“Okay, we’ll go, now that my brother is properly impressed. But, Sierra, I would like to extend an invitation to you, to participate in some of our pre-wedding activities.”

“Pre-wedding activities?”

Melody walked back down the stairs, staying next to Sierra while Max forged on ahead of them. He knew the look in his sister’s eyes, the one that said she had a plan.

“Yes,” she went on. “We’re sewing a honeymoon blanket. It’s a very old Assyrian tradition and my grandmother insisted. We are all taking part. My mother, grandmother, sister, myself, aunts, cousins. My quilt is patchwork, a little of the old country with the new. If you’ll join us in the next couple of weeks, just bring maybe a scrap of material from an old shirt of yours. I want to make this blanket about the people in my life.”

Sierra opened her mouth as if to object. Max had stopped in the large entry foyer and he watched, waiting for her to come up with an excuse. Not that Melody would accept excuses.

He knew what his sister was up to. She liked the wedding planner, thought she was lonely and in need of someone. And he was that someone. His sister had always been a fixer, even as a child. When he had gone through his destructive teen years, she’d been the one constantly trying to find a way to bring him back to himself. She would plant herself in front of him, demand he stay home and read a book, help her with a school project, anything to try to win him back.

“Melody, it’s time to go.” He motioned her toward the door.

“Don’t get all bossy businessman with me, Maximus St. James.”

Sierra laughed a little.

“And this is why I don’t like to take her places,” he told Sierra. “Time for us to go home, Mel. Nonni is cooking tonight and you know she wants us all there.”

Melody gave Sierra another quick hug. He would have to explain to her that she needed to pay more attention to social cues. Sierra Lawson had a bubble and she didn’t want people stepping inside it.

He was more than willing to respect her wishes even if his little sister wasn’t. He hadn’t come here looking for ties to this community. He’d only come to make amends. Hope, Oklahoma, wasn’t his home anymore. In this small town he still felt the past hanging over his head. Everyone knew his stories.

Except Sierra Lawson.

But he doubted she was curious about him. She had her own stories. Stories she didn’t seem to want to share with anyone.

That was just fine with him.

Chapter Three

Sierra waited until the church bells rang before she entered the sanctuary and found a seat in the back on Sunday morning. Unfortunately she wasn’t the only one sliding in at the last minute. The doors opened and another latecomer entered.

This time Pastor Stevens noticed. He had just made a few announcements but he paused and smiled.

“I know several visitors are with us today. Why don’t we take a moment to greet our newcomers, and even those you might not have had a chance to shake hands with.”

Sierra groaned.

“Thought you could sneak in unnoticed?” Isaac West asked as he held out a hand. At least he knew she didn’t like hugs.

But the huggers were out there, lurking, waiting to wrap warm and welcoming arms around her. She winced at the thought.

“I tried,” she admitted.

Before she could say more, she was surrounded. It felt a lot like a mob but she knew it was all about well wishes and not an actual mobbing. She eased away from the push of people, smiling and acknowledging their warm welcome while trying to beat back the claustrophobia that darkened the periphery of her vision. Somehow she managed to speak to an older woman who held her hand, telling her how glad they were to see her.

Someone else reached for her other hand.

She reminded herself that this was good. People were friendly. They were all glad she’d shown up. They didn’t know about her past, about growing up in the midst of her parents’ destructive relationship or the weeks she’d spent being held captive in Afghanistan.

Taking a deep breath, she managed to smile as she started to back away. She desperately needed space. The urge to be free of the crowd started to claim her in its grip.

“Leave it to me.” A solid chest brushed against her back and a deep but concerned voice rumbled near her ear. She didn’t turn. She knew who that voice belonged to. She didn’t want to rely on him, on anyone.

But now wasn’t the time to argue.

“We’re going to find our seats now. I think the service is about to start,” Max said with an air of authority that had the crowd moving away, reclaiming their seats. His hand, strong and warm, held her arm. The touch grounded her.

She allowed him to take control, moving them to the refuge of a back pew. He released her arm as she took a seat but then he slid in next to her. Of course he did. He’d made it clear that they needed to find a seat before the service started. He’d said, “We’re.” Didn’t he know how small towns worked and that he had given people, even kind and well-meaning people, something to talk about?

“Are you okay?”

She wanted to tell him to mind his own business. That she could take care of herself. But all of the caustic remarks were buried beneath a layer of gratitude. She rarely allowed anyone to shelter or protect her. She didn’t know why it was him, a stranger.

Maybe it was easier to allow a stranger into her life than to lean on friends who had already done so much and knew too much.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He didn’t tease or mock. He merely nodded and reached for a hymnal that he handed to her. He took the other one in the back of the pew.

“I’m not always like this,” she felt compelled to add.

“I know.”

“Do you?” She lowered her voice, aware that one or two heads turned to give her a look. She didn’t wait for his answer, instead she joined the singing, not wanting to disrupt the service.

The music seemed to be God’s way of drawing her close to Him. It’d always been this way. Even as a child she would make excuses to ride her bike on Sunday morning so she could sit outside the neighborhood church and listen to the congregation sing. She never went in. Her father wouldn’t allow that. He hadn’t been a believer, so no one else had been allowed to believe.

The music touched the dark, hurting places in ways that sometimes the words of a sermon couldn’t. Even now, the music chased away the memories that had started to drag her down. It lightened her soul with words of hope and promise.

The sermon seemed directly related to the last of the hymns, focusing on new beginnings. She closed her eyes at the final words, that new beginnings sometimes required multiple tries. You might have to start again, but as long as you kept moving forward, there was hope.

His mercies are new every morning.

The congregation stood for a closing prayer and then headed toward the fellowship hall.

Again Max walked next to her, his hand on her back, guiding her through the crowd. She didn’t need him guarding her. True, he was tall and broad-shouldered, an able bodyguard.

But she knew how to take care of herself. It was safer than relying on someone who might not be there when needed. Or someone who might let you down. She had rescued herself from the nightmare of her parents’ divorce. She’d rescued herself from her captors in Afghanistan, managing to overpower a guard as American forces fought to enter the compound.

Yet here she was, allowing Max St. James to lead her through the sea of people, as if he were her Moses, parting the Red Sea for her to get safely to the other side.

“I know you can do this yourself,” he murmured very close to her ear. As if he’d heard her thoughts.

“Of course I can.”

She kept walking and realized that not once did she feel the dark edges of panic. His hand was on her elbow. He was strong. His presence was real. It was solid. He smelled good, too. Something expensive, with a touch of citrus and mountain air.

People spoke to them as they walked, as if no one noticed anything unusual about the two of them. Or so she thought. As they entered the fellowship hall, she spotted the people who would have questions. Kylie West, once the therapist at Mercy Ranch, and a wounded warrior herself, spotted Sierra and her eyes narrowed. Isaac West, Kylie’s brother-in-law, had a more amused expression. And then there was Melody St. James and others that Sierra assumed were Max’s family.

The two of them entering this room together was creating a firestorm of speculation. Not something she wanted.

She pulled away from him.

He released her. “You’re okay?”

“I am.” She meant to say it with a touch of rebuke but it came out softer, as if she were reassuring him. She let it go. “Thank you, for back there. For bailing me out.”

“Anytime.”

Then he left her and joined his family. An older woman greeted him with a hug, making him bend down so she could kiss his cheek. Sierra guessed her to be Nonni. She was a small woman in a floral dress, with graying dark hair pulled up in a bun. After kissing his cheek, she began to talk, gesturing rapidly with her hands. Melody laughed and gave her grandmother a hug. His parents, whom Sierra had met during initial wedding planning, gave Max hugs. His was a close family.

“Are you going to join us?” Kylie appeared at Sierra’s side.

“What?” Sierra pulled her attention away from Max and his family.

Her friend’s gaze trailed to the St. James family and returned to study Sierra.

“They’re lovely people,” Kylie said. “I’m glad they were able to buy back the ranch they sold. This was their home for a long time.”

“Yes, it’s good they were able to get it back.” Sierra clasped her hands together, trying to appear excited. “Let’s get this party started, shall we?”

Kylie raised a brow at her enthusiasm. “I’m not buying it, Sierra.”

“Oh, come on, you know I love big, festive events.”

They both laughed. The laughter shook loose some of the darker emotions she’d been feeling the past hour and a half. It felt good to have lighter emotions rising to the surface.

“Of course you do.” Kylie drew her toward the kitchen. “I thought you could serve desserts. Keep them cut, on plates, ready to be picked up by the guests.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“It is easy. You’ll get to socialize a little, serve dessert and have fun.”

Sierra gave an exaggerated shudder. “Socializing and having fun. Two of my favorite activities.”

Kylie showed her all the cakes and pies, the table she would stand at, the plates and cutlery stacked up on the side. And then she looked past Sierra’s right shoulder and smiled a little too brightly.

“Here’s your helper now!” Kylie exclaimed.

“Helper?”

Warning bells went off in Sierra’s head. She looked up from the cake she’d been about to cut, expecting Max St. James. But she was wrong. It was his grandmother.

“Nonni, I’m so glad you can help us.” Kylie gave the older woman a hug.

“I’m glad to help. I have so many fond memories of these church dinners.” Nonni extended the smile to include Sierra. “And you, the wedding planner, I’m so glad we can finally meet. Melody talks of you constantly.”

“I’m not sure why!” Sierra said.

Max’s grandmother smiled big. “Because you say what you think.”

Sierra felt a rush of warmth slide up her neck. “Oh, there is that.”

Nonni patted her arm in a motherly way. “We would like for you to join us, working on the honeymoon quilt. And, also, if we could talk about food. Maybe we can add a few traditional dishes to her reception dinner. I don’t want to take over.”

“Nonni, don’t tell fibs.” The deep voice came from behind Sierra. “You always want to take over. They say it’s where I got my type A personality.”

Nonni’s forest green eyes sparkled with joy. “Max, you’re going to help us serve dessert?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He moved to his grandmother’s side, smiling at Sierra as he placed a protective arm around his grandmother’s shoulders. “I have things to do.”

“Watching football isn’t a thing to do,” Nonni warned. “We’re serving dinner today. You can miss the game just once. You and your father. You can help with dessert. Your father can help with cleanup.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Max countered.

“Oh, I am sure.” Nonni smiled brightly and the battle was won.

It happened that quickly. One minute Sierra and Nonni were working the dessert table and Sierra thought it might be fun to get to know this older woman. And the next minute Max became a part of the equation.

Sierra had been backed into a corner. The only upside to the situation? The sweat on Max’s forehead as he realized he’d been outmaneuvered by his grandmother.

Nonni had a way of making him feel trapped. He loved her and would do anything for her. Which was the reason he stayed to help serve up cake and pie. He stayed, knowing she had something up her matchmaking sleeve.

Not something. Someone. Specifically, Sierra Lawson. She obviously didn’t see why this project had failure written all over it. He wasn’t interested. And neither was Sierra.

In his mind, a matchmaker only worked when a person wanted or needed help finding love. His grandmother, on the other hand, liked a challenge. She seemed willing to try matching the two most unwilling subjects.

Fortunately for him, he had experience dealing with Nonni. Sierra had been taken by surprise. A sneak attack by his grandmother. She’d adjusted quickly, though, and was now listening intently as his grandmother talked about food and recipes.

His grandmother pointed to her kilecheh. “These are our Christmas cookies,” Nonni told her. “The rolled pastry is filled with dates, the other is filled with nuts, sugar and cardamom. They’re very good. Try one.”

“I shouldn’t.” Sierra held a hand up to protest but Nonni stuck a pastry in that protesting hand.

“No, you should. They have no calories at Christmastime.” Nonni laughed at her joke. “These are my grandson’s favorites.”

He reached for one as Nonni watched, waiting for Sierra’s response.

“They’re very good. Is that a yeast dough?” Sierra asked after finishing the small date-filled pastry.

“It is.” His grandmother glowed as she began to tell the younger woman all about her kilecheh.